Lost Orchids
by flippin coconuts
Summary: Two witches: a mother who was the Dark Lord's bride, and a daughter, a nomadic spunky orphan with repressed childhood memories becomes the apprentice of Snape, her mother's killer. Also, Draco wants someone he can't have. SSOC/DMOC/PWOC/LVOC
1. Bloodshed at Spinner's End

**Lost Orchids**

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own anything Harry Potter; however I own the plot and OFCs Evelyn and Amara.

**Status**: Written in progress

**Rated:** M for mature for future graphic lemons, violence, minor/major rape or just implied rape. If you don't like it, don't read it, and stick to reading works rated T.

**Summary: **Why was the Potions Master bitter all these years? Years ago he murdered a child's parents, members of the Order, so what happens when years later the child is tossed into his lap as his Potions Apprentice?

**Chapter 1: Bloodshed at Spinner's End**

_Evelyn Orchis, a clever Ravenclaw, the Dark Lord's only bride and greatest victim, was under his spell for more than half her life without any recognition of what wrong has been bestowed upon her. She didn't know what to expect from the charming Head Boy thirty years ago, and one day he crossed her path with an intention, 'Want her. Use her.' Little she knew, she was marked for life. _

**Saturday, October 15th 1981**

In northern England, in a rundown industrial city, our story begins. There was a dreary looking house on Spinner's End, on the very corner where the cobblestone road meets the mill. It was an old brick house, very unkempt like all the others on the block.

This was the hiding place of Evelyn Orchis for the past four years, accompanied by her loving husband and her young daughter.

"Mum," called the voice of the small girl. She climbed out of her bed and left her room. Walking pass the darkened musty hall, she timidly peeked through the doorway to a small room, a clean room with walls painted a pale violet.

The sitting room was cramped with fine furniture clustered around a coffee table. On the shelves were a collection of leather-bound books. There was an armchair in the corner by a small roaring fire, and lounging there was a kind, silvery long-haired young woman with a black crescent moon marked upon her forehead. She was a slender woman and wore a black Alice band and a loose fitting peasant top and a matching skirt in earthy autumn tones. This was her mother, Evelyn.

Evelyn stood up and picked up a pink candle off the mantle and lit it. A homely scent of wild flowers filled the air.

"Mum," called the little girl. Evelyn looked over her shoulder at her little princess. With starry sapphire eyes, she saw her daughter enter the room dragging her plushy Cornish pixie in one hand and a book in the other by her side. She had shiny raven black hair that fell to her waist, and wore a pale violet night gown with matching fluffy slippers, and on her fair face, her child bore the same marking as she does.

Placing her book on the coffee table and rubbing her sleepy eyes, the tiny child yawned, "Is Daddy coming home tonight?"

Evelyn smiled and sat down on the armchair placing her little princess on her lap.

"Sweet pea, don't worry. I just spoke to Uncle Albus earlier and he said he will arrive home any minute now. Why don't you go back to bed, honey?"

"I can't sleep now!" said the raven-haired girl with her bright dark eyes, as if it was so obvious.

"Why not, sweet pea?"

"He promised he'd read to me"

"What book?"

"This one. I'll show it to you." Evelyn's little sweet pea hopped off her lap and grabbed her book from the coffee table. With two hands she raised it up high above her head, and it read _**The Dark**_ _**Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection**_.

Her mother smirked, _typical, that's just so like him._

"He- He says we live in dark times and he'll teach me _everything_ he knows. Mommy, is Daddy smarter than you?"

Evelyn laughed thinking back on her Hogwarts days.

"Did Daddy ever tell you that I taught him everything he knew when he went to school?" The tiny girl shook her head.

"Is this Hoggywarts?"

"Yes, sweetie, it is."

"So you're smarter than him?"

"Well, we're both smart. I'm not sure who's smarter, but I know we both appreciate wisdom. When I went to Hogwarts, I was sorted into Ravenclaw House, and when your father went to Hogwarts, he was sorted into Slytherin, so we're a little different. I loved learning for the sake of learning, and your father, well, he learned so he can have the power to do what he wants in life. He has ambition. It's a Slytherin trait. Also, he can just do certain things I just can't."

"So what did you teach him?"

"Just some things that's good to know before school. I shared some advice from my past experiences."

Evelyn told a few tales and stories. Her young flower hung on to every word until the clock struck twelve. Evelyn was getting worried; her beloved was never this late before.

"Come on, sweetie. Let's go to bed. Daddy will be home in the morning. Let's get some sleep."

After tolerating much of her daughter's questions "where's daddy and why?" and so on, Evelyn manage to tickle her and carry her over her shoulder.

While walking through the hall, the girl observed her mother's appearance and played with her hair.

"Mommy, you're so pretty."

"Thank you, sweet pea."

"Will I be pretty when I grow up?"

"Yes, it's in our blood"

"Really?"

"Yup, but I'll tell you another time, is that okay?" Evelyn said, tucking her into bed.

"But, how come I don't look like you?"

"Yes, you do," she pointed with her gentle hands, '"you have my skin, see, and my straight hair, my nose, and my eyelashes. Right here, see my moon mark? This is the mark of Orchis. You have it too. You are mine, although you do look very much like your father."

Evelyn and her daughter kissed each other goodnight, and as the young child fell into sweet slumber, Evelyn stood by the bedroom window. She sighed. _Where are you?_

Suddenly winds blew hard and the trees banged against the window panes. Startled, Evelyn stepped back and just when she was about to turn away, her eyes caught sight of what she knew shouldn't be. In the midst of the dark storm clouds lay Voldemort's Dark Mark. Death Eaters will be here soon, if not already. They are coming for her. HE was coming for her.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" said her child awoken by the loud commotion.

"Sweetie, get out of bed, now! It's bad!" the young mother panicked pulling the girl out of bed, ushering her to safety.

"Do you remember what we practiced just in case this happens?"

"Head for the Spinner and wait?"

"Yes, honey. Now go!"

They parted. Evelyn slipped into the dark hallway with her wand armed and ready. She stepped through the threshold into the sitting room. The flames from both the candle and the fireplace flickered out simultaneously .The room was engulfed by darkness and in the blink of an eye, only the lightning strikes brighten the room.

Evelyn's heart raced. She aimed her wand towards the front door. But, before she could even muster up a spell to buy her some time to bring true damage to her intruders, the door blasted into pieces, and Evelyn is thrown across the room and into a wall.

Voldemort enters, his minions trailing behind him underneath their pointy hoods and skull masks.

He looked at her with his red snake eyes. A painful feeling twisted inside her, it's the Cruciatus curse. He circled her limp body amused_. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk._ He mocked her in disappointment.

"Did you really think you can escape me?"

Tears swelled in her eyes.

"Now, now Evie, don't look at me like that." The Dark Lord kneeled beside her. "It's so good to see you. Remember you did love me once?"

"Love? Is that what you called it? Obsession in bottle is more accurate."

His fierce red eyes gazed upon his other half, watching his bride cower away. He gave a shrill laugh. So pathetic, he thought. He kneeled. She scowled at him. Even when angered, she was just as beautiful since the day he first noticed her. How have the last thirty years have been, he pondered. Biting her lip, his long slender fingers stroked her from her silky silver head. She spat in his face. He wiped his face then slapped her. Instinctively, she tried to attack him, but he was too strong.

"See here, Death Eaters. Never let a woman, especially a woman so _weak_, to get in your way. Only good for one thing, and she couldn't even do _that_ right.

You are _MINE_, till death-do-us-part. What do you have to say for yourself? "

"What did you expect me to do? Fuck your little prick while I let you wreck havoc on everybody? After all that you did? What you still do? You stole my life, Voldemort. I won't let you steal my daughter's!"

"Hear that, Lucius? You'll have your daughter-in-law after all. She's four years old am I correct?"

"Cut the crap, Voldemort, and just kill me. Please."

"Oh, believe me, that was my intention, but suddenly I realize you have something I want.

After all these years, did you not think I would find out who you are, the way you think?" he hissed. "You did something, a charm, an enchantment. I know it! She is my daughter now, Evelyn. Tell me where she is and I shall spare you."

"Your daughter? If she is yours, then what is her name?"

* * *

"Amara! Amara!" A young pale man called from the windmill. "Where are you?"

With his hair slicked back and tied, his black robes flapped through the harsh winds.

"Amara!" The man yelled for his daughter, but she was no where to be found.

He knew he had to return home.

* * *

Young Amara did as she was told, and she headed towards the bookcase in her bedroom. She whispered the password and the bottom shelves parted into a tiny passageway. Once inside, the secret door closed behind her and her surroundings tilted forward. Before she knew it, she was on a wild slide that led her to the outside.

She rolled onto the grass, but unfortunately she lay merely inches away from a small group of her would-be abductors wearing scary skull masks and long pointed hoods. The young girl shut her eyes hoping they did not recognize her obvious presence.

In ranks, the Death Eaters marched in her direction, strode across her even, and the child was neither harmed nor founded.

She was safe, but why? Amara was shocked as the black men's feet surely trampled her, but oddly enough they went right through her like phantoms.

Foolishly, Amara stood up and followed the evil crowd, curiosity getting the best of her. She listened in on their hushed whispers.

"Severus, are you ready?" asked Lucius.

"Of course, Lucius. For the Dark Lord, I shall be."

"Prove it. Make no mistake this time. You let her live. The Dark Lord believes it was accident, but this time, he won't be as merciful."

* * *

"You won't speak? Fine!" Voldemort rasped. "Death Eaters search the place, I want my heir found. Search for portraits, bookcases, trapdoors; we're not leaving until this house is in ruins.

As for you, my bride, CRUCIO! "

As the Death Eaters begun ransacking the witch's home, Amara clutched onto the broken entranceway, staring into her mother's blue eyes. Evelyn was the only one aware of the child's presence. She wished her princess wasn't here to see this.

Evelyn tossed and turned violently enduring the searing hot pain twisting at her insides. The daughter wanted to cry out for her mother, but Amara had no words. Tearfully, the little girl whimpered.

The young pale man returned to the house to find everything was too late. Standing outside from a great distance, he witnessed the Death Eaters enter his home. At that moment he fell to his knees with his head in his hands wishing he'd die there and then. This was his fault. If only he'd stay to protect his family.

"_Don't be silly, love. Dumbledore says you'll have to be there, so you'll be there. The Order is expecting it, and you wouldn't want to disappoint Dumbledore now would you? You swore to him," Evelyn assured him. _

_They stood in the kitchen. Evelyn's back was turned from her husband as she prepared dinner on the kitchen counter._

"_I won't do it, Evelyn," her husband said firmly, "I love you. I love Amara. I'm not going to let myself lose you. Not again."_

_As loving as his words were, she had to remind him of all the terror she went through trying to survive the life of being the Dark Lord's only concubine. Recalling those memories made her blood boil all over. The chopping of the vegetables became louder. A hard chop against the cutting board punctuated her every point.  
_

"_I've faced Voldemort! Did you forget that?—chop—He wanted me to carry his heir—chop! chop!--so he fucked me with abandon until I was black—chop! and blue—chop!. Do you know what that feels like? To be tossed about like a rag doll knowing you can't give him what he wants? Maybe you do, or will eventually. I've been to the meetings. I know the 'crucio' inside and out, especially when he figured that the key to conception laid in MY heart._

_"My mind was lost to love potions. It was worse than that 'imperio'—to feel like you're in love with someone you hate and not know why. I was his prisoner, __his prisoner__,_ _long before your time. I can't keep running away like this. Not forever-"_

_"Why not?" asked her beloved. She slammed the knife down and turned to him, anger radiating from her body as she leaned against the counter._

_"For Merlin's sake, why are you acting so selfish?"_

"_Don't call me selfish!" he spat. "You and Amara are the only reason why I wake up everyday and live this wretched life!"_

_"Who or what are you calling wretched?" Evelyn challenged. He stepped towards her and cupped her face in his hands._

_"I'm wretched," he confessed, his gaze locked on her blue eyes. "You are why I live. Don't you understand?"_

_She gave him a brief kiss, and hugged him close. His arms wrapped around her protectively as if wanting to never let her go._

_"You know I do, more than anyone," she told him._

_"Then why are you so willing to sacrifice your happiness after having very little before?"_

_"Because I found you. Because I was given a chance to know you, and I've fallen for you, truly, madly, deeply. Because you are my husband now, the father of my child and I trust you'll do right. That heart beneath your breast does not belong to demon."_

_"If you say so, Eve." They loosened their embrace and Evelyn returned to her dinner preparations._

"_Now that we're on the same page, keep in mind that this is a war, and you're not the only one losing love ones. Remember Dearborn? Fenwick and what's left of him? Molly Prewett's brothers fought off five and died so young. Don't you remember the Longbottoms? Your Slytherin friends drove them mad! Did you forget I've felt that feeling? Do you have any idea what's that going to do to that poor babe of theirs?"_

"_So why must we take the risk?"_

"_Because I more than anyone wants this war to end. I'm sorry."_

He lifted his head up and spotted standing by the edge of the front door, his daughter in pale violet. There was still hope.

* * *

"Snape!" hollered the Dark Lord, feeling very pleased. A Death Eater came forth and stood by his side. "Her life is yours to take. Make her suffer, brother. Kill her!"

"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied at his master's command.

Amara couldn't believe her eyes. The man who was to destroy her mother, she trusted him. He meant family. She turned away from the soon to be gruesome sight only to stare into the face of her father, whom she long awaited. He tried to take her hand and take her back to Hogwarts, but she would not let him. She instead glared accusingly. He was too late. He couldn't protect his family. Amara held his face forcing him to watch. The father held Amara in his arms pulling her close to his heart. They shed their tears and when it was done she let go of his grasp, and ran for the portkey at the mill. Her father followed.

Snape circled the familiar woman lying before him. The Death Eaters stopped their search and grew silent as they watched. Evelyn and the young Death Eater stared into each others eyes, silently crying, as they shared this moment as it was like four years before. Four years before, she was taken by Voldemort. Four years before, her daughter was born. Four years before, Snape risked his life and secretly saved her.

She nodded her head, signaling him to go ahead, and he returns the nod slightly, sure that this is what she wants. He closed his eyes remembering the only one who ever truly cared for him; he does not want to do this. He opened his eyes and raises his wand. Aiming it at her chest, his mind muttered _Sectumsempra. _

Evelyn trashed at every cut and gash. Seemingly, the pain never stops, and Severus felt it too. He let his wand rest and Evelyn lay feebly in her crimson puddle on the floor.

"Well done, Severus," said the Dark Lord. "And when we find her daughter, if she struggles, expect to do the same. Like mother like daughter." The evil bastard laughed at that and turned to his minions. He then sent the search outside and all of town. They apparated, the Dark Lord gave his final word to Severus, "Discard her!" and he disappeared.

At that, Severus rushed by the woman's side. She's faintly breathing still. He holds her hand and pulls off his mask. "Evelyn, I'm sorry."

She looked up at him one last time, with her last loving smile, and touched his face.

"Don't be-"

* * *

A/N: I swear I've been writing this story for a long time. I believe I originally came up with the idea of it since the release of Order of the Phoenix. I was a 14 years old then and undisciplined, but now it's 5 years later, I'm in college and an English major, and I think I might actually be able to pull this story off in a decent canon matter. To those who like my story so far. Thank you. I'll try my best to keep updating.

P.S. I still haven't gotten around to reading Deathly Hallows yet, and I get a lot of the dates and events from the HP Lexicon site, so if facts are off about certain characters, sorry, like say deaths without my justification, sorry. Just so you know.


	2. The Minx

**Chapter 2: The Minx**

_13 years later…_

**Sunday August 24, 1994**

The sun rises. In the Leaky Cauldron Inn a young woman awoke to the blinding rays of light beaming upon her face. She moaned, turning away from the brightness of the window. Her arms reached out like vines, attempting to pull close her mate for sweet warmth, but mistakenly she wraps herself around a cushy pillow instead. She hears the shower running.

She cracked open her right eyelid. Her obsidian eye scanned the empty bedside, neatly made. The witch frowns and embraces her pillow tightly. _So much for morning delight,_ she thought sarcastically. She fell back to sleep.

The bathroom door opened. Warm mist flowed out from the inside the doorway and stepping out is a tall and slim young man with a freckled face and flaming red hair. He paced the room shirtless, his hazel eyes in search.

"Amara," the red haired wizard whispered in her ear.

She muttered.

"Wake up, Amara," he gently poked the girl wrapped tightly under the covers.

Shaken from her slumber, she saw her lover kneeling by her bedside, his chest bare.

"Morning, Weasley," she yawned. "Have a happy birthday?" She smiled coquettishly.

"Let's see, birthday party and birthday suits?" He thought momentarily and nodded. "Yeah, you're looking at a very happy boy."

"Oh, believe me. It shows," Amara winked. "By the way, shouldn't you be at your folk's by now? What are you going to say when they find you're not there?"

"Yes, well, I just wanted to ask you – "

"Of course I'm coming. I'll be there in the afternoon. Arthur and Molly are going to be – "

"That's not what I was going to ask. You know you're very rude for interrupting."

"You've known me for seven years and you barely figured this out now?" He smirks at her last remark. "Go on, ask away. Don't let my rudeness stop you."

"Well, before I was so _rudely _interrupted, I was going to say that I cleaned your flat, and I can't seem to find my shirt anywhere. Did you put it somewhere?"

"I can't recall actually."

"Come on, Amara. I can't come home looking like this." His hands frantically gesture at his attire or there lack of.

"Weasley, I can't see why not. You are a _wizard_ after all. Why don't you just apparate? You did it so often after getting your license, you lousy git. They won't suspect a thing."

"Oh right, well--" he spoke slowly feeling foolish. Amara puckers up her angel rose lips. They share a brief kiss goodbye and he's ready to go.

"Wait, you poof," Amara said suddenly, grabbing his wrist. "If you really want your shirt that badly, just summon it. You do know how to summon don't you?"

"Please, don't mock me this early in the morning anymore." Amara crossed her arms.

"Be glad it's your magic I'm mocking," grumbled Amara.

"What was that?" the Weasley cocked a brow.

"Oh, nothing," the rude witch said brightly, "Well go on. Don't let me keep you any longer."

At that, the Weasley pulled his wand from out his pocket and spoke the incantation, "_Accio_ shirt."

**Three seconds later…  
**

She screams.

"Oh blast it! Fuck wank bugger shitting arse head and hole!" The sheets are tossed and Amara is laying face down against the cold wooden floor in nothing but her black bra and lace knickers to match.

After the red-haired git slips on his white long sleeve button shirt, it is then that he rushed over to Amara's side.

"I'm so sorry, Amara. How was I supposed to know you were sitting on it? Are you alright? Say something!"

"_Alfhoundyorelasses,_"a mumble against the floor.

"What?" says her git.

He flips her over. Amara's face, expressionless.

_Merlin's balls, she's breaking up with me again, _thought the Weasley.

With a worried look across his face, an impish smile played upon Amara's pink lips. He silently groaned at the very smirk that haunted his every fantasy since he'd known her.

She raised her arm and in her hand was a smashed pair of horn-rimmed spectacles.

"I found your glasses by the way."

After Weasley finally made his departure and returned home, after fighting the ongoing battle inside his head on whether or not he and his lovely lady should go for another round only to have decided he must return before his family's magical clock betrayed him, Amara headed for her private toilet to tidy herself up.

Brushing her teeth, she faces her reflection. Anyone who'd seen her before would say she had this very mysterious beauty. She had dark good looks; sassy layers of wild black hair barely passed her shoulders. She had a heart shaped face, clear and fair skinned. She also wore a small, silver piercing through the right of her nose. Her eyes were almond shaped, and the iris was dark and fathomless at times, but in the light looked a refreshing bright grey. If she so chose, she could stop any man with a single glance, but there was very few men she'd do this to, and only one that she wanted. It was an off and on sort of thing, but there is no doubt she had him, she thought.

"Sounds like you had fun last night," snickered a charming voice. It was coming from the mirror. Amara spat toothpaste into the sink and rinsed.

"He's nice," she smiled, her cheeks tinge with pink.

"A little uptight if you asked me." Cheekily, she stuck her tongue at her reflection.

"Well who asked you anyway?"

"I was just saying my thoughts. What ever happened to –"

"Don't even say it. Never say that name to me!" She commanded.

"Gil." It dully replied.

"I hate you," the witch muttered, smirking at the wonder of how a mirror can be so sadistic.

Amara showered, applied on her usual dark red lipstick and slipped on her favorite Whomping Willows t-shirt along with her horntail green-skinned skirt and boots to match, a present Charlie had given her for her birthday. Time was nearing noon, and Amara was ready to go.

It was when she was racing downstairs the bald toothless landlord had spotted her. Amara wore a stylish cap and purse that matched her horntail apparel.

"Where are you going?" asked Tom hunching towards her.

"Ottery St. Catchpole, I'm visiting my mates."

"Oh, that boyfriend of yours?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Sure seemed like it this morning. You kids were bleeding loud, I'll give you that." _Fuck,_ thought Amara,_ now who else knows?_

"He was just visiting and it's none of your business who's visiting me."

"Like hell it is." Amara scoffed at his remark. "Who took you in and gave you a room? Who clothed and fed you when you were just an ickle girl? Who closed down the inn and took you to all your hearings for all your miscreant crimes? Come on, who now?"

"Alright. Alright. You did. Now can you please shut up about it? Thank you!"

"How long will you be gone this time?"

"I'm going to the Quidditch World Cup and I'm going to catch up with the other Weasleys so I'm thinking a week. Last year, it lasted for six whole days."

"Sounds like a good time. You're coming back this time or can I _officially_ announce your room vacant?" It was a joke, a reminder of a not so pleasant incident, an incident Amara didn't want to recall, seeing as Tom had no choice to fire her afterwards for her mistreatment towards a customer. It was considered VERY bad treatment towards a customer, a very VALUED customer.

"Haha. Very funny," she laughed sarcastically. "Let me make myself clear. Do NOT let anyone into my room, Tom. I don't care if they are rich purebloods who want the best and will pay you double. I do NOT want to find _wankers_ in my bed unless I invited them, okay… Don't look at me like that. You know I won't. I'll be going now. Bye Tom." She was about to storm out, but Tom called her back.

"Wait a second, beautiful." Amara turned her back and smiled with false cheer. _Don't get mad. Don't get mad, _she thought to herself.

"What is it?" Tom reached from inside his robes and pulled out an envelope.

"You have a letter."

She took the envelope from his hand and observed it carefully. It had a neat green scrawl of words and a familiar crest.

"How? Who? Who sent this?" Amara barely got her words out.

"From looking at the seal I'm guessing Albus Dumbledore."

"THE Albus Dumbledore!?"

"Are you going to open it or are you going to investigate where it came from too?"

She was shocked. This she never saw coming.

She walked outside holding the letter in her hand, caressing it tenderly. For years, people have told her before that this will never happen, that she will never go to Hogwarts. They were wrong.


	3. A Flicker of a Smile

**Chapter 3: A Flicker of a Smile**

His black robes billowed in the breeze. Severus Snape peered from behind the display window glass.

It was dark inside. A single lit candle shined dimly on the front counter.

Behind the counter there were jars, some containing powders, herbs and other sorts lining along the walls. Bundles of feathers, fangs, and claws hang from the ceiling. Barrels of slimier things lined up on the floor and the whole place smelled of a mixture of bad eggs and rotten cabbage.

Not that the tiny candle showed all that; he knew as he had been there many times before, in the day of course. This place was an enterprise he spent many long years mastering. Routine visits are expected, but this visit wasn't mere business. This was a much more personal matter.

Just a quarter-past midnight, a young witch, no older than seventeen, wearing a black cloak entered from the back door holding a wide cardboard box. With her wand in her mouth clenched between her teeth, she kicked the door closed and placed the box on the counter.

_Foolish girl, _thought the professor, observing her struggle as she could have simply done a levitation charm.

The witch placed her wand behind her ear and stood facing the shelves. She was quietly thinking for a minute or two and then turned sharply towards the box.

"Blast!" she cursed.

The room went black. The only sound there was that of a rolling candle.

Silently she lit her wand, the light shining upon her face as she brought out a lantern and lit that instead.

With her snow white complexion and rosy cheeks, she looked just like her mother, thought the professor, all except for her eyes and hair.

There was no forget-me-not blue that of the woman whose eyes used to invade his very soul or the white-blonde tresses that waved in the summer breeze. There was darkness instead. Her eyes shined like obsidian orbs and her hair, sleek and black as night.

From the box, the girl pulled out a radio and turned it on. Out of the speakers blasted the voice of Myron Wagtail of the band Weird Sisters. It didn't sound half bad.

The young witch enjoyed herself as she took her wand and levitated jars out of the box and into their rightful places. She danced as the jars flew around her in many directions. Singing terribly off-key, she was having an embarrassingly good time.

Snape was amused by the sight bringing a smile to his lips which hadn't been there for what felt like ages.

She'd dance and sing as if nobody listened. She was acting like a little girl, careless and free spirited. The very same girl he knew ten years ago, only now she looked happy.

* * *

Back in the day, before the first fall of Lord Voldemort, some of the Order meetings were held in the Longbottom Manor's parlor room. While the Order members privately discussed current events and defense plans, Amara roamed about the manor under the watchful care of Sirius Black, otherwise, she would wreck havoc to the mansion in a true Marauder fashion. If given the chance, she would pick pocket a wizard for his wand and shoot doodles of ink onto the portraits much to their displeasure, and she would jump and pull stunts on the antique furniture. Young Amara was a spoiled little problem-child and craved attention, and this was when she had BOTH her parents.

One night while Amara's parents were attending an order meeting, she grabbed Sirius' hand and asked him to play patty cake. She was a charming girl who needed to be watched, and Remus or James would tell him all about the meeting later, so he didn't mind.

When the meeting ended, Evelyn sent Snape to go retrieve her daughter since she was so caught up in a conversation with Lily Potter, discussing what was Amara was like when she was Harry's age. The women compared notes.

Snape started his search by stalking the halls for occupied rooms. Shortly, he heard the little witch's laughter coming from baby Neville's nursery. There, Sirius and Amara sat on the colorful pastel carpet. The wizard bounced a rubber ball as the little witch braided his hair.

"Ouch!" said Sirius, the ball slipped from his fingers and it rolled away. "Take it easy, Amara. Don't pull so hard."

"I'm sorry, Uncle Sirius," she said, taking the braids apart and smoothing his hair with her fingers.

The Potions Master was about to enter the room and retrieve the girl, but something about the following conversation caught his interest and made him pause and listen.

"That's alright. Just be careful. Anyway, what was your question?"

"I was wondering if he was a Death Eater too?"

"Indeed he was. It was a mistake, he realized, and tried to change all that"

"But he did evil things? How could he ever be good again?"

"Just because he did something bad doesn't mean he can't redeem himself."

Snape snorted at the marauder's response, recalling the hell Black given him for simply being a Slytherin and Black's disbelief of the fact that the Professor was indeed Dumbledore's double agent.

"But wouldn't that make him a traitor?" Amara asked. "Wouldn't the Dark Lord kill him?"

"That he would, but he thought it was worth it"

"Why? What could be so important?"

"Well before he took the dark mark, I learned that had fallen in love with your mother."

"He did?"

Snape was amazed at the wizard's composure. Normally, Black would complain about how loathsome the Potions Master was when discussing him, but this was Evelyn's kid Black was talking to. It wouldn't be right to soil his name in front of her.

"How did your brother die?"

Then it hit him. He realized they were talking about Regulus, and then he thought about the child's question. _How did he die anyway?_

Snape recalled the younger Black at the meetings, but at one point, the man just disappeared.

"My guess is that he was killed by the others when he tried to leave," was Sirius's final answer as Snape finally entered the room, cleared his throat, and grabbed the duo's attention. Amara bounced to her feet and ran up to the greasy black bat of the dungeons and hugged him tight. He returned the squeeze and she automatically let go.

"Snape," Black acknowledged the pale wizard.

"Black," said Snape, his eyes narrowed.

Tension instantly filled the air. One could almost expect a duel in the pastel room of baby shades of pink and blue.

"Well thanks for spending time with me," Amara said, interrupting the staring contest with her aura of cheer. "It's been the most fun I've had in a long time. Couldn't you visit me sometime?"

"I don't think that would be a bright idea," said Sirius.

"Please," the little witch begged.

"Ask your mother," Snape gritted through his teeth not wanting her to whine if he told her a straight 'No". Snape spent a good portion of his time at her home when he wasn't working at Hogwarts. He didn't want to return to be forced in the presence of that stupid arse when he didn't have to.

Amara hugged Sirius and kissed his cheek goodbye.

Snape fumed at the sight of it. Before the bloodshed at Spinner's End, this was the last time he remembered her smile.

* * *

_Enough watching_, resigned Snape with a sigh. In a moment the wizard left in a pop, arriving at Leaky Cauldron to deliver a letter…. besides, he needed a drink.


	4. The Sentence

**Chapter 4: The Sentence**

Amara raised her wand arm and waited until a triple-decker, violently purple bus arrived in front of her. She downed an anti-nausea potion and stepped in. Once inside, she quickly noticed the fact she hadn't yet to receive a greeting from the stupid toad-face conductor_. It must be his day off,_ she assumed. _What a relief_. But then she looked over at the driver Ernie, who looked right back at her. Through his coke-bottled glasses she saw the moment he realized that it's her. His face distorted with blatant disdain and gruffly he asked her of her destination.

Feeling awkward, Amara told him bluntly, paid her toll, and moved towards to the farthest armchair in the back. He was still sore, as if he could easily forget the attack she made on Stan Shunpike last year. No, surprise though. How could she forget herself? It had been the most violating experience she could remember enduring, but no need to think of it right now. Today was supposed to be a happy day. She was going to attend the Wizarding World Cup Tournament. Today was going to be fun.

She reclined back into her arm chair, unaffected by the wild speeds of her transportation. She had ridden the Knight Bus for so long; she could have sworn she was conceived there. Having been orphaned at the age of seven, anything could have happened between her estranged birth parents, so to past time, she would wonder. She imagined them gorgeous; her mother with dark hair and eyes lovely as hers and her father the same. Amara breaks the seal on her letter from Hogwarts and reads.

_Miss Amara,_

_It is to my great pleasure to inform you that the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and myself have taken the referral of your current employers, Mr. Slugs and Mr. Jiggers of the Apothecary, into great consideration. I and the staff of Hogwarts has decided that due to your remarkable talent with potions, to give you a rare opportunity to apprentice under the guidance of Hogwarts' finest Potions Master Professor Severus Snape. The durance of your apprenticeship depends if it's in your interest. Please, find enclosed is a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins September 1__st__. We await your owl for your._

_Sincerely,  
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_  
_Headmaster of Hogwarts  
Order of Merlin, First Class_

It was a career proposal; an offer she couldn't refuse, for Hogwarts has always been her dream, but for as long as she could remember, her life has always been complicated.

_7 years ago… March 17__th__, 1988… one week after her 11__th__ birthday… the ministry had taken its final straw.  
_  
Amara always had all hearings in dungeon levels. It was a routine, felt like a game she would play as a little girl, a game of strategy and wits, but this time she couldn't bear it. This was the first time she had broken down.

The dark haired little girl sat in the center in the seat of the accused. The stone walled courtroom was dimly lit by torches. Tom, the inn keeper, was there as the only member of her support group and in the judge benches above were Minister Fudge and entire Wizengamot.

"No, no, no!" it sounded more of a demand than a plea. She changed her tone to one a person is more likely to forgive. "Destroy the wand. Go ahead but you can't do that. Please, anything but that. Azkaban before that… Please!" tearfully the young girl begged.

"We are not impressed by you. We warned you of the consequences of performing underage magic. Didn't we, Miss Amara?"

"But, Fudge. I'm just an orphan. I don't know any better."

"That is why the board of the department of Magical Law Enforcement and I have decided to appoint you guardians."

"Guardians? You mean like foster parents?"

"That's exactly what I mean." She wiped her tears, feeling as if a ray of hope just shined upon her.

"So I can attend school this September?"

"This September? You don't expect us to let you attend with your record. This is your 96th hearing in four years. If our calculations are correct, every two weeks we have confiscated and destroyed one of your wands. I don't know who keeps distributing wands to you. There will certainly be an investigation on Ollivander, the wand maker, but you're only eleven years of age for Merlin's sake. You should be receiving your first wand like all the other children. You shouldn't even be here to begin with."

The ray of hope was just shut from her like a door had slammed in her face. Her dream had died and tears flowed again once more. She glanced towards her feet and wiped her crying eyes. She tried to keep her usual stoic expression, but it was hopeless.

"So where do I go from here?" Amara's tiny voice quivered.

"After this hearing, you shall go directly to the atrium level and wait for your appointed guardian to escort you off the premises."

"How will I know who it is?"

"Don't worry, Miss Amara. You will know when you see him. There aren't many wizards who don't recognize who you are, considering how you spent your past three years at the Leaky Cauldron. Your appointed guardian will be notified of our decision after you are dismissed. Now if there aren't any further questions – "

"– My living? How will I make my living?" she blurted. Fudge sighed feeling sorry for her.

"I suggest you forget about Hogwarts and all other magical education institutions and take up a vocation of some sort."

"And the use of my wand?"

"You may use it, but know this, Miss Amara; the ministry is going to charm a tracking spell on your wand. We will be monitoring your activities. Any funny stuff and you will go straight to Azkaban. Understand?" Amara nodded.

"Now if there aren't any more matters to be discussed -" he paused to wait and see if the little witch would interrupt him this time. There was only silence. Amara just sat on the edge of her seat and began to fidget and play with the chains beneath her fingers, chains that would bind the dangerous and fugitive. With that, he raised his gavel and dismissed with two hard bangs, "then meeting is adjourned, good day!"

So in the atrium the raven haired little witch waited alone since Tom had left after hugging her farewell as had to return to the inn on account of business. Amara sat on the edge of the fountain, her fingers wading through the cool water. As wizard folk passed her by to admire the beautiful piece of artwork, she felt small droplets splash upon her face as tossed knuts and sickles plopped into the magical pool. The girl watched for in a blink of an eye the currency would disappear. All donations received by St. Mungo's Hospital. Amara sighed heavily wishing she had some coin of her own to offer the fountain. Anything to change her luck.

Minutes had past for what felt like hours. She was growing restless, rapidly tapping her fingers against the edge where she sat, a habit suddenly discovered. She couldn't take it. Anxiety burned through her skull like fire. Many wizards passed her by. She knew them all, and she knew they knew her. If not remembered for her charm as a serendipitous lost seven year old that lay blank and confused in the arms of a stranger who found her one rainy night, then as a bored troublesome pre-teen misfit mysteriously advanced in her magical skills instead.

She prayed that this guardian would understand her and not give her hell although she knew she deserved it at times. Lost in her thoughts, there was a tap on her shoulder. She failed to notice at first and so the man shook her shoulder. At that, she became startled losing her balance as she sat on the edge of the fountain and splashed in face first. Her knees thudded at the impact of the floor. _Darn this shallow pool. That's going to bruise._ Her arms pushed her torso up and when she could manage to carry herself she kneeled, wiping the soaked black curtains out of her face. In front of her was a chuckling red headed man in some horrid muggle outfit, a bright yellow raincoat and rainbow suspenders.

"MR. WEASLEY!" she cheered, climbing out to hug him.


	5. Entering the Red Zone

**Chapter 5: Entering the Red Zone**

Arthur Weasley left the Ministry of Magic with an eleven year old orphan hanging on his arm. In a thunderous crack, they appeared in the muggle-loving wizard's humble abode, in the middle of the kitchen, just in time for supper. Amara's obsidian eyes widened at the sight. She had never seen so much red before. The ginger-haired clan was so overwhelming, she squinted her vision slightly in case she'd go temporarily blind. The Weasley family's attention was then centered upon her. Some of the youngest ones gawked in fascination at the black haired little witch who had caused so many ruckuses out in the real world. Amara counted the heads sitting around the wooden kitchen table…_ one… two…three… four… five… six… seven… eight… and Mr. Weasley standing behind her made nine._ This certainly wasn't what Amara had expected at all.

The father Weasley began to speak to everyone, explaining her situation and welcoming Amara into the family, but the raven haired witch couldn't focus clearly enough on his words. All she caught was, "This is Amara, and she will be… _blah-blah, blah-blah-blah_." The orphan girl scanned the room again, absorbing more details this time.

There was the plump and motherly Mrs. Weasley sitting at one end of the table, and beside her were two small children, a girl and a boy. They were so young and innocent looking, Amara thought of them as two little freckled cherubs. Sitting beside them were a slightly older pair of children, aged nine or ten; they were twin boys, and they sat close to each other, whispering to one another, and sneaking furtive glances at her direction. They grinned like demons, and they were the antithesis of their angelic and younger counterparts. She knew she'll need to keep her eyes on devious duo.

Next in line was a serious looking boy who was just about the same age as hers. He wore a pair of glasses, and his hair was neatly parted down the middle. Amara didn't know why exactly, but she had this crazy urge to want to poke him.

And sitting beside Mr. Poke Thingy (Amara's secret nickname she gave to the grave faced boy) were two boys she knew were the eldest brothers. The laid back looking one was Bill; he was seventeen, and the athletic looking brother was Charlie, and he was thirteen. The witch had recognized these two wizards from sometime before.

**_3 years ago…_**__

A fourteen-year-old Bill and an eleven-year-old Charlie accompanied their father one summer to Diagon Alley. They went shopping for things on their school lists in preparation for their stay at Hogwarts next term. Afterwards, they would all get a bite to eat at the famous Leaky Cauldron. As Mr. Weasley got himself caught up in conversation with a fellow worker from the ministry, the boys waited at one of the tables by the bar. Bill polished his prefect badge, and Charlie groaned in irritation. The younger brother was bored and hungry, especially after he catching a whiff of the delicious smells coming from the inn's kitchen that was off to the side of the bar. Then he noticed something odd about the bar, well… not the bar exactly, but who was at the bar had caught his interest.

Sitting on a barstool was a raven-haired girl, about eight-years-old, dressed in servile clothes. She had a wand in her hand and that brought up many questions in Charlie's mind, some questions about child-labor laws and some about underage magic use. The picture the girl painted by her mere presence wasn't one that the average wizard sees everyday.

The witch-maid Amara began her break by making her decent downstairs with a worn-out 2nd year charms book tucked underneath her arm. She was a young little witch, but one of the few things she learned about herself when awoke and found herself at the inn was that she was a very educated young little girl. She may not have known her name if it weren't for the single scrap of paper in her pocket that said so. She may not have known who was her family, where she came from, or anything about her past, but what Amara did come to realize (or what the bartender Tom realized by giving her a book from the lost-and-found in order to bide her time) was that for a seven-year-old, especially for one so absent of mind, she was capable of reading fluently at a first year level.

It was that wonderful revelation that made the little witch swell with pride, making her feel less like a burden or a lost cause. The idea of being so helpless, so defenseless and having to owe someone was unbearable. That is why she worked for Tom, wanting to earn her stay.

However uncomfortable Amara was about being a charity case, the orphaned witch didn't reject all offers of kindness. In fact, the raven haired girl welcomed gifts from an anonymous sender signed **Red Fox**.

Just a year before, on the very first Christmas Amara would ever remember, and on the very first Christmas she would spend alone, she found a single present under the small Christmas tree in her room. The gift was wrapped in a tall box, and when she opened it, she was joyously surprised to find a stack of used textbooks. Some of the books were old, published in the '60s and '70s, and there were scribbles of notes jotted in the margin spaces that proved to be useful tips. The small collection was a full set of what would cover a first year's list. They maybe considered garbage in the eyes of the richer wizards and witches, but to Amara, the books were precious.

She recalled the words from the single note attached to her present: Let you be wise beyond your years. And that was just what she did after receiving more advanced texts from the mysterious giver each following Christmas and "birthday" (which crossed her as somewhat odd since she couldn't even remember her birthday). By the time she ending up residing in the Weasley household three years later, she was as knowledgeable as a fourth year.

The eight-year-old Amara sauntered to the bar and placed her opened her charms book on the bar surface. She settled on the stool, pulled the wand she had stashed in her hair and practiced some wand movements. The eleven-year-old Charlie stood up from his table and approached her, while Bill observed his younger brother's sudden movement and followed him with his eyes.

"Hey, I'm Charlie," the intrusive Weasley introduced himself.

The little witch-maid lost her focus, looked up at her distraction, and tilted her head slightly.

"Come again?"

"I'm Charlie," the boy repeated himself. She was surprised he was even speaking to her. She didn't often meet other children, whether her age or older. Does he want something? She wondered.

"Amara," was her terse reply. She could be nicer, a charmer actually, but it had been a rough day at the job.

"Hey Amara, how did you get your wand?" Charlie asked. "I just got my wand at Ollivander's today, but that's because I'm eleven and I'm going to Hogwarts. You're younger than me, so why do you have a wand?"

"It's not a wand," she claimed. "It's just a plain old stick, the kind you find in your backyard. There are no rules against holding a stick, are there?"

"That's stupid. You're lying," the Weasley boy accused.

"You're so mean," Amara cried. "I'm not lying, and I'll jinx you if you say I am again."

"Ahah! You lied again. You said it wasn't a wand, but then you said you'd jinx me, and you can't jinx me without a wand. I'm telling my dad about you. He works for the ministry, and you're going to get in so much trouble."

"I don't care. I'm always at the ministry anyway. I was at the ministry last week, but you're wrong, Charlie, and I'm right. It is a stick, and you know what? I don't need a real wand to jinx you."

With a swish and flick of a stick, Charlie was flipped into the air and hanged by his ankle.

"AH!!" the young Weasley yelled, and then he cried, "Put me down! Put me down!"

"Hey, that's my brother," Bill said, finally stirring from his seat after watching the event unravel for his amusement. "Put him down"

"No. Ask me nicer," Amara told him. "He's up there because he wasn't being nice."

"Please," the older Weasley seethed through his teeth. "Now."

The witch-maid put down her stick, and simply wished the boy to fall down. Charlie was released from the spell, cursing an expletive which was appropriate for the moment; he punctuated his drop to the floor with a thud and followed it with a poor groan.

That caused a bit of an uproar at the Leaky Cauldron. The patrons dining in the room couldn't have missed the action. They were talking amongst themselves about what they saw, and that caused some commotion that can be heard from outside where Arthur and his co-worker were chatting. The incident caught the father Weasley's attention, bringing him inside.

"Boys, what went on here?" Mr. Weasley asked his sons.

"That girl cast a spell on me. She hung me up in the air," Charlie explained, pointing towards the little witch-maid.

"I saw it, Dad," told Bill. "Charlie was talking to her at first, but then they got in a row, and she threw him in the air. I don't understand. She isn't allowed to do that, isn't she?" Mr. Weasley was about to answer his son, but someone else got to it first. It was his co-worker from the ministry, insert name here, from the Improper Use of Magic Office.

"No, she isn't," he told the Weasley boys, and walked over to the trouble-making little witch. "Amara, I just talked to you last week about this. Hand over the wand."

She put the stick in the palm of the wizard's outstretched hand.

"It's not a wand," Amara explained for the second time that day. "It's a stick. I'd swear on a truth stone that it's just a plain stick I found.

"Let it go," she begged. "Please. I know you don't want to fill out any more papers about me. Let it go. Please."

Arthur Weasley ushered his boys into the inn's fireplace, flooing themselves home. After their arrival, his sons bombarded him with questions.__

"Why was she there?" asked Charlie.

"Yeah, Dad. Doesn't she have a family? I don't think she does," said Bill.

"Who is she really?" Charlie exclaimed. That was the most important question of all.

Mr. Weasley sat his boys down in the living room and explained all that he could about the witch-maid's situation.

"Boys, that girl you two just met is Amara. She's eight years of age like Percy, and she's lived at the Leaky Cauldron for about a year now. A man named Mundungus Fletcher brought her in one night. She was in his arms, unconscious. He said he found her in an alleyway at Knockturn Alley. When Amara woke up, she had no memories before that day. She had what the medi-witches and wizards at St. Mungo's call amnesia.

"She was taken to the Ministry to be identified by the magic list that keeps track of all Wizarding children, the same list used to know what children receive their school letters when they reach the age of eleven, Amara wasn't on it. They cast blood spells on recorded family trees, but there were no matches.

"Some workers at the ministry had theories that she might just be a muggle child that got lost in our world, but one worker waved his wand on her to detect traces of magic, and the wand glowed bright. They found that there was an abundance of protective spells cast on the child, complex ones. Not many people know this, but whoever knew who this girl really was did not want her to be found. That is why she has no memory. She can't tell secrets if she doesn't remember them.

"Some wizards think "Amara" might not even be her real name. Mudungus Fletcher only called her that because that was what was written on the piece of parchment inside her pocket."

And that was all that Arthur could say about her, although as an Order member, he knew the truth, almost in all it's entirety. Dumbledore told him what he needed to know, and what Arthur knew was that Evelyn Orchis, Amara's mother was the Dark Lord's concubine, and when she escaped, she stayed at Hogwarts, her sanctuary, where he and Molly befriended the silver haired witch, who posed as a student. The couple became close friends with the bride of the evil tyrant, despite not knowing her secrets.

Evelyn hardly aged. On the surface, the witch's body was youthful, flawless, and the ripe age of eighteen, but her eyes were the windows of her older soul, having seen and experienced so much horrific traumas. Because of her everlasting youth and perfect health, she was a wanted woman in Voldemort's eyes.

When she escaped her former-husband for the second time, she gave birth and ran off with her lover and child and she hid for four years.

Arthur knew that Evelyn was killed in a Death Eater attack, but did not know she was murdered by the Potions Master Severus Snape. Had he knew that fact, the Weasley would have been horrified.

Mr. Weasley wanted to tell the witch-maid the long-complicated story. He believed a child deserved to know her birth rights, her roots. Knowing about one's blood ties encouraged the understanding of one's own existence, and if Amara knew her parents, their history, and her inherited powers, there was no doubt that she would have been proud. However, such knowledge would be the bane of her if You-Know-Who were to rise again, as would the knowledge put Arthur in danger and any one else who knew the Orchis secret. That was why he had to take the vow of silence. To resist the compelling pull of the magic, a wizard would choke to death on those words, literally. That was its bind.

He was able to have discussions about the little witch though, that was if and only if he learned information from a source outside the Order, like any ordinary wizard would… as a spreading rumor or a juicy piece of gossip.

Mr. Weasley introduced Amara to each of his children.

"Amara, over here at this end is Bill and Charlie. You've met them."

Charlie reddened at the memory.

"And this is Percy. He's your age – and those are the twins. That one is Fred – no, George, sorry – _that's_ Fred. – This little guy is Ron, and there by Mrs. Weasley is my daughter Ginny."

Amara smiled, pleased to meet them, but little did she know, this wasn't the first time she met the family. In her earliest years, when her mother Evelyn was still alive, her mother Evelyn worried that it wouldn't be healthy if she was cooped up in a house with only adults (and not that many adults either) instead of children her age. It wouldn't be wise to keep her isolated. She needed playmates, play dates, and the Weasley children seemed like the perfect companions.

Despite Arthur and Molly being her old friends and order members, Evelyn took extra precautions to keep Amara well-hidden. Her methods weren't unlike muggle witness protection, in fact, their whole lives seemed to be that way. With the help of her husband, they glamoured the child's skin and hair, so she wouldn't look just like her mother or father, and trained Amara to respond to a different name when amongst her new playmates. This worked wonders especially when the Weasley family went out of public. No one would think to take a second glance at the extra ginger-haired child, and if someone did, Molly would simply explain that the sudden appearance of an extra child was her niece Mildred, the daughter of her cousin who had married a muggle accountant and left the Wizarding world, and she was visiting her cousins for a while.

Amara sat herself in a seat between the twins. Arthur and Molly discussed sleeping arrangements for their new addition. She would be sharing a room with Ron and Ginny seeing as being roomed with Percy, despite them being the same age, would be inappropriate. Amara smiled at Percy who seemed a bit shy, and she looked over towards Bill and Charlie who was running Chuddley Cannons plays on their dinner plates with hovering carrots. Ron watched in amazement, and Ginny told Amara about the gnomes in the garden.

Dinner went on as it usually would at the Weasley home, lots of food, lots of love, and a spoon full of veggies flung in someone's face. That night the food fight was caused by the twins with the carrots aimed at Amara's left eye. Sort of their way of saying, "welcome home".


	6. Back to the Burrow

Beta: mountainrider

**Chapter 6: Back to the Burrow**

When setting the tables for dinner, Bill and Charlie had themselves a little war. They battled with two battered tables by flying them across the lawn and attempted to throw the other out of the air. A clatter from overhead spoiled the fun as Percy's head poked out of the window of the second floor.

"Will you keep it down?" he bellowed.

"Sorry, Perce," said Bill, grinning. "How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?"

"Very badly," said Percy peevishly. He was just about to slam the window shut, but off in the distance something caught his attention.

* * *

Amara zoomed across the sky, mounting her trusty Cleansweep Five.

When the Knight Bus dropped her off on the outer edge of Ottery St. Catchpole, the witch enlarged the shrunken broomstick stashed inside her purse and shot off into the air like a bullet in the breeze. With one hand holding onto her hat as she zipped though the copse of trees, Amara nearly regretted wearing a skirt that day.

Finally reaching the Burrow, her home sweet home aside from the Leaky Cauldron, she dipped forward and landed in the garden. The tables were set, and the witch arrived just in time.

"Amara!" yelled Ginny, running up to the older witch. "You're finally here. We have much to talk about." she said, pulling Amara in for a hug.

"I know," Amara agreed. "I just received wonderful news."

"Really? What is it?" asked Ginny as they both walked towards the house.

"Not yet, Gin-Gin. I'll tell everyone at dinner because if I tell you right now, I'm going to end up repeating myself all day like a broken record, and that gets annoying." Ginny nodded, and Amara changed topic of discussion to a new one: boys. "So Ginny, fancy someone?"

The red-haired witch blushed and stared down at her feet for a moment. _This is so embarrassing_, Ginny thought. She opened her mouth to confess her current object of interest, but when she looked up at Amara's face, Ginny unexpectedly screamed, "Watch out!"

The sassy raven haired witch whirled in confusion, but when she realized what the danger was, it was too late. The twins Fred and George had charged at her from opposite sides, and Amara was caught, sandwiched in the middle.

"Gerroff me!" Amara demanded with her mouth muffled by the embrace of one of the twins. She shoved that one down to the dirt and pulled herself together.

"'Mara, is that how you greet all your friends?" asked Fred, grabbing the fallen George by the hand and lifting him to his feet. George brushed off his clothes.

"Seeing as we've never really met any of her friends, I wouldn't be surprised," said George with a laugh. Amara bit her lower-lip in frustration. _Those sodding hypocrites! _her mind screamed.

"Really, boys? You're ones to talk. You couldn't just say 'hello' like Ginny, could you? You nutters won't be happy unless you've busted my bones and sent me to St. Mungo's!" the witch accused.

"Why so serious, 'Mara?" asked George. "You know we're only playing with you."

Amara scoffed.

Playing – of course it was all play in their eyes—but for Amara, the rambunctious duo was exasperating. When she decided to move out from the Burrow four years ago, one of the pros of her departure was the simple pleasure of not having to deal with those pranksters on a day to day basis (even though it was only during winter holidays and summer vacations). The altered dungbombs, the perverted spying during bath time, and the sneaking into her quarters to experiment with the comedic potential of gnome pheromones were just some of the twin's major discretions that were stuck in Amara's memory.

"Come on, 'Mara," said Fred wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "We're sorry. Aren't we sorry, George?"

"We're very sorry," replied George digging through his pocket. "And to show – "

"– that we really mean well," continued the other twin.

"We're giving you -"

"– a special-"

"- treat," George finalized, offering their token of peace, a toffee, by placing it in the palm of her hand.

Amara stared at the sweet with scrutiny. She knew it was tainted.

Fred and George were a couple of gits, but despite being utter nuisances, Amara couldn't imagine them any other way. April 1st was their birthday after all. They were jokers through and through.

Amara unwrapped the candy, shrugged her shoulders, and popped it into her mouth.

She truly and irrevocably loved them as the brothers she never had.

Seconds later, Amara's tongue swelled and lengthened to an enormous size.

_I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!_ The witch failed to speak. Her giant tongue was blocking her speech.

Amara reached for her wand, aching to hex the pranksters' bollocks off, but Bill and Charlie came to the rescue. Bill pinned back the thrashing arms of the furious witch while Charlie performed a spell to shrink her tongue. They were unable to contain their laughter.

Ginny and Hermione shook their heads, sympathizing the witch, unlike the rest of the boys, Fred, George, Ron and Harry, were all choking for air and shedding tears of joy, wishing they had a camera.


	7. Dinner With The Weasleys

Beta: mountainrider

* * *

**Chapter 7: Dinner with the Weasleys**

At seven o' clock, dinner was served in the garden under the clear, deep-blue sky. Two picnic tables adorned with tablecloths were set end by end on the grass, and on them was a feast of Mrs. Weasley's marvelous cooking: chicken and ham pie, boiled potatoes, salad and for dessert, strawberry ice cream. Amara, Harry, Hermione, and the nine Weasleys settled themselves down before tucking in.

At first, Amara wanted to sit at the far end of the table with Percy, but the moment he breathed a word of his report on cauldron bottoms to his father, she moved herself towards the opposite end of the table, past the twins and Charlie who were animatedly discussing Quidditch, and just past Molly who was arguing with Bill and Ginny about Bill's sense of style. The raven-haired witch sat close to the end with Hogwart's famous Golden Trio.

She ate quietly at first, listening to the conversations around her, but eventually she looked across at The- Boy-Who-Lived. Green eyes met obsidian. Amara wiped her mouth with her napkin and smiled politely.

"I've seen you before," Harry spoke to her first. "You're from Hufflepuff, right?"

"_Wrong, mate_," Ron was about to answer, but his mouth was stuffed with food.

"Ron," Amara said firmly, addressing the sloppily eating Weasley. "Unlike some people I know, I'm not a dunderhead fool that can't answer a simple question by myself."

He was about to say a comeback, but he was rendered speechless, as was his two best friends, when Amara decided to point her wand into Ron's face.

"Swallow your food before you speak," she said tapping Ron's nose. He flushed red and swallowed hard. Relieved when he saw Amara relax her hand, she suddenly flicked her wand silently, and the smears of food that hung upon his face vanished. Carefully, the witch lunged across the table and ran her hand though his hair as if petting a dog.

"Good boy," Amara said. "Anyway…no, Harry, I wasn't a Hufflepuff."

A pregnant pause filled the air. Ron was used to Amara's suddeness since she used to baby sit him and Ginny when everyone else was off at Hogwarts, but to Harry and Hermione, this character was new, and possibly dangerous if crossed.

"Are you a Ravenclaw then?" Harry asked finally.

"Nope," she answered. "Actually, I have no house because I've never attended Hogwarts, or any other school for that matter."

"But that's absurd!" stated Hermione, outraged and ready for a protest rally if the case needed it to be. "You're a witch… It's your birthright to attend. I'm a muggle-born, and it hasn't stopped me."

"That's where you're wrong, Hermione," Amara corrected the young roaring lioness. "An education, specifically a formal education, in witchcraft and wizardry is not a birthright. It's a privilege… and a privilege I certainly and deservingly lost before I even had a chance."

"How did you manage that?" asked Harry, knowing what it was like to be at risk of expulsion.

"I broke the law too many times… underage magic. I didn't have any parents or official guardians, so I was just scolded about every other week. I'm sure there's a big magical filing cabinet at the Improper Use of Magic Office with my name on it. It wasn't until I was eleven that the Ministry finally put their foot down and banned me from every wizarding and witchcraft institution that exists."

"So what have you been doing since then?" asked Hermione

"I get jobs here and there, nothing professional since I am automatically ineligible because I never attended school nor did I even take my OWLs or my NEWTs."

"So no one would hire you," said Harry, connecting the dots. Her luck was as bad as Professor Lupin's it seemed.

"Exactly… well places like the Ministry won't."

"I'm sorry," the Boy-Who-Lived sympathized.

"Don't bother," the witch said unfazed. She had gotten used to that fate and accepted it. "Personally, the thought of working in an office and doing paperwork all day gives me bugbears. Sure, Percy probably gets wood for his job, but I think it's just pure torture."

"So what kind of jobs do you get?" asked Hermione.

"Well…so far I've worked at Slug and Jigger's Apothecary, the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, Flourish and Blotts Bookstore, and the Leaky Cauldron."

"That's where I know you from-" Harry realized. "The Leaky Cauldron - I used to spend a bit of my summer there when I first discovered magic was real, and last year, too, after I kind of blew up my Aunt Marge. You were a maid there, weren't you?"

"I was, but I haven't been in years. I still live there though. I had a room there for about 10 years now."

"When was the last time you worked there?" asked Harry

"Hmmm… I had to be about fourteen then, like your lot, probably just before ickle Ronniekins started his first year at Hogwarts."

"Please Amara, no 'ickle Ronniekins' stuff. I just ate," Ron said, holding his stomach and pretending to look peaky.

"No can do, Ronniekins. You'll always be itty bitty Ronnie to me."

"So what are you doing now, Amara?" asked Ron, finally getting into the conversation since he's heard the rest of her story before.

"Well, lately… just the apothecary. However, thanks to the kind words from Mr. Slug and Mr. Jiggers, after the World Cup, I should be taking a train to Hogwarts for this potions apprenticeship that Dumbledore has offered me."

"Bloody hell, Mara!" exclaimed Ron. "Your only chance at a serious education and you have to work up close and personal with that greasy git."

_Greasy git, eh? Professor Snape couldn't be that bad, could he?_ Amara wondered.

"Ronald!" scolded Hermione, displeased by his obvious disrespect.

"'Mione, the man is just so mean and nasty," Ron explained. "He might as well be a basilisk the way he's always hissing and glaring at us."

_I guess so… _Amara resigned. _Oh well._

"He's dead right on that one," said Harry in agreement. "Ask everyone else. We've all had him."

"What's that you're saying?" said Bill. He couldn't help overhearing, especially after he had enough of his mum's prattling comments about his long hair and recent ear piercing.

"Amara was just telling us about her new job –" said Harry

"Amara, you got another job?" asked Charlie. He was surprised.

"Your big news!" said Ginny, excitedly. She remembered Amara was supposed to make her big announcement.

"You didn't get fired again, did you, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley worriedly.

"Do you think it was her fault this time or that pureblood brat she's always fussing over?" murmured Fred.

"Three times the charm," joked George in reply.

"What's going on over there?" asked Percy. Mr. Weasley wondered the same thing.

The raven-haired witch stood up.

"Oy! Listen up, everyone!" Amara shouted through the hollowness of her cupped hands. "If you haven't heard, I have a new job, and NO, I did not get fired this time. As of September 1st, I will be a new addition to Hogwarts staff. I'm going to be an apprentice and strive to become a potions mistress. That is all."

As everyone applauded and gave their kudos, the witch took a bow and returned to her seat.


	8. Once Upon A Wanker

**Chapter 8: Once Upon a Wanker**

That evening, Amara was sitting in Ginny's room, on her old bed, brushing her hair. She was wearing a white satin nightie

"Come on, Hermione," urged Ginny, nudging the curly-haired witch through the doorway. "Ask her."

"Ginny, you already know what happened. I don't see why-"

The red-haired witch cut Hermione off. "You want to know don't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Girls!" Amara called, putting the brush down. She straightened herself and crossed her legs. "If you're hoping to ask me a question, I suggest you do it then… unless you like giving me headache with your indecisive blathering."

Hermione was taken back by the older witch's attitude. She really didn't want to ask now, but Ginny joked.

"You're such a bitch, Amara," the young Weasley said. The raven-haired witch smirked at the endearment. "Talking the way you do, I'm sure you and Snape will become fast friends."

"That's if he doesn't kill you first," added Hermione. The two Gryffindors couldn't help laughing.

"You're alright in my book, Hermione," said Amara. "Go on, ask your question."

"Well, it's about your big announcement, you said you didn't get fired this time?"

"Yeah…"

"How many times have you been fired?"

"Twice"

"How come?"

"Well, often an establishment isn't too keen on flogging the customers."

"You did what?!" Hermione asked in surprised. "That's not what Ginny said."

"And what?" Ginny shot back. "Ruin the whole story for you? I don't think so."

"Ahem," Amara cleared her throat, grabbing their attentions. "As I was saying…the first time it happened, I was working at the Leaky Cauldron, I ended up harming a customer, a very VALUED customer."

"And what about the second time?" asked Hermione.

"Same thing, same customer, different setting: the Three Broomsticks."

"Come on Amara," said Ginny. "There's more to it then that."

"Ginny, I already told you what happened," Amara reminded her.

"Yes, but you didn't tell me his name"

"So what?"

"I still want to know," Ginny whined, the mystery of it all still inching her brain.

"Is that why you brought the smartest girl of Hogwarts in here to interrogate me?"

"Yes, now spill," was Ginny's demand.

"Hermione," the former witch-maid began. "Do you really want to know what happened?"

"It sounds fascinating," Hermione said surly,"but you don't have to. I don't want to have to force you, if you really don't want to."

"Ever the Gryffindor…" Amara drawled in cross with a yawn. "Well girls, gather round for a story. Feel free to ask questions anytime."

She waited for the younger girls to get comfortable. Amara sprawled herself across her bed while Ginny and Hermione sat on Ginny's bed and faced her.

"Okay, two years ago, the summer of 1992, I was a witch maid at the Leaky Cauldron. I lived there for years and I had this special room. It used to be like any ordinary room at the inn, the basic necessities, but I get bored, you know, so I made some changes."

"What kind of changes?" asked Hermione.

"Well, I saved some galleons and bought me this advanced spell book called "Enchanting Places". I ended up expanding the space; refining the master bathroom with some marble and gold fixtures, transfigured the cloth and furniture into something of a more bohemian chic style, and finally I made the ceiling simulate the sky."

"Just like Grand Hall at Hogwarts."

"Exactly like the Grand Hall at Hogwarts," Ginny confirmed. "I've seen it myself. It's no wonder why she left here for good. If I got a place like that with the price she's getting, I'd be out of here too if I didn't miss mum, dad, and everyone so much."

"Anyway, I left the inn one day to go to some parts of the Forbidden Forest closer to Hogsmeade. I had to gather some ingredients, kinds that only bloomed at night and some that would only so under the moonlight, for these potions I was planning to make. I may not have attended school, but there's no doubt I am a self-educated girl.

"However, I didn't return home that night. It was four-thirty in the morning and the trip along with the flower picking was just tiring. I was only fifteen then, and I didn't have apparition license. I still don't. So I did what I thought seemed like a good idea at the time and took a nap on some meadow in the Forbidden Forest, first putting up some protective wards of course.

"So I got up around noontime, inspected the forest for other ingredients now that it was clearer in the daylight, and I took the Knight Bus home.

"Then I headed to my room and spoke the password, but oddly enough, the door didn't swing open like it usually did. So I tried to open it the old fashion way and stuck the key in, but the door repelled it from the lock, so I went to see Tom about it.

"_Amara, what happened to you?_ He asked me. I finally looked at myself in a mirror, and I saw I was this dead ugly mess. My hair was long then and it had all these twigs in the back of it, and my shirt and jeans were just covered in dirt. He told me that I was 'putting off the customers' and that I need to go upstairs and clean myself up, but I reminded him I couldn't."

-_How can I clean myself up if I can't get into my own room? Better yet, why the hell can't I get into my room in the first place?_

-It's booked.

-Why is my room booked? It's my room! You shouldn't have done that when I'm not around.

-I wouldn't have, but he had the galleons for it, altered and all, so I thought I'd make a profit.

-How is it that he even knew my room even existed?

-The boy was being right nasty about what my establishment had to offer, so I kind of mentioned your room to him.

-You could have just kicked him out, Tom.

-If he were someone else, I would have, but he was part of one the richest pureblood families known to England.

-Well, how long has he been in there?

-Been there since one. Said he wanted to freshen up and take a nap before he had to meet up with his father. He should be out soon enough.

-You know I want half of what you charged him…for the inconvenience.

-Consider it done.

"So we talked, and what happened was that he booked my room to some little pureblood brat who wanted the best room in the house to take a shower and a nap. And I accepted that and got a pretty profit from it seeing it was still my room."

"Rich pureblood brat?" asked Hermione. "He could be anyone from school, from any house."

"You're telling me," said Ginny. "I've been trying to figure it out for years. Even if I guessed his name right, she still wouldn't tell me."

"Why are you protecting his name?" asked Hermione.

"Honestly, I kind of felt guilty about what I did to him. I don't want everyone who knew him rubbing the incident in his face, well everyone except me. If word of this got out, it would be uncontrollable. He wouldn't be able to live it down."

"Can you at least tell me how old he was?"

"At the time… probably like twelve or thirteen.".

"He might be the same year as me," guessed Hermione.

"Maybe…" Amara let her answer hang in the air. She wasn't going to tell.

"So what happened next?"

"I went up the stairs and went into the storage closet. There was a sink there I could wash up in, and in there was my old uniform I out grew. I put it on and it was tight fit. My breasts were squeezed that my cleavage couldn't be hidden by the neckline, and the hem of my skirt was so short, it met my mid-thighs. It was just so embarrassing. I might as well have worn a tiny tea-cozy. Wizard-patron's leering at me in the hallway, and I couldn't hide. I just did what I normally did. I did my rounds, going to room to room, and with a flick of my wand, cleaned up and as quickly as possible. Some of the men in the rooms tried convincing me to stay awhile."

"That's so gross," the younger girls reacted in unison.

"Isn't it?... So I did my job, and the only room I didn't enter was mine. So I knocked on the door, hoping the guest would leave soon."

-_Housekeeping…_

Silence. No response. – The witch knocked on the door persistently.

-Housekeeping! – shrilled Amara. Still no response, so the maid let herself in. She didn't care anymore. It was 3:30 and a good enough time for him to check out, and if the boy gave her any cheek for it, she was more than ready to help send him on his way.

Amara shut the door quietly, and looked around the room. The room was the same; however, she discovered a shirt, trousers and underpants strewn across the floor. She flicked her wand at the mess, and they were neatly folded on the side table drawer.

'Just great,' she thought. The boy was in her bed sleeping absolutely starkers. Amara circled the bed and found him beneath the sheets. His body wasn't bad looking… if he was only a couple years older, who knows? He seemed to be sleeping. The fringe of his hair veiled his eyes.

If he wasn't awake, Amara didn't mind him being there. The nudity was a tad disconcerting, but it's only the sheets she was worried about. Sheets she sleeps in. 'Oh well,' Amara thought. They can be cleaned, and cleaning sullied sheets was a part of her job description.

So she turned around, and pretended he wasn't there. She went to the trunk from across the room and bent over to store it with the ingredients she gathered from the night before.

"And you know what happened as I began drying my ingredientsin order to put it into storage? I heard a noise."

"What sort of noise?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I heard a grunt, so I checked to see if he woke up, and it turns out…"

"He was beating his bludger right in her bed," Ginny answered for her.

"Quidditch? Indoors?" Hermione was out of the loop.

"No Hermione. Not Quidditch. Trust me. What he was beating definitely was not a bludger."

"Oh!" gasped Hermione, the meaning of the metaphor finally dawning on her.

"Yeah, bloody wank," Amara cursed.

"So what did you do next?"

"I did what any witch maid would do… I cleaned up."

"What did you mean? You didn't finish the job?" Hermione asked suggestively, catching Ginny and Amara by surprise.

"Can you believe it, Ginny?" Amara started. "I think the prim and proper Miss Granger made a joke, and a naughty one too."

"Oh stop it," said Hermione. She was blushing, and they all bursting in a fit of giggles.

_"Shit! I just saw you…" Amara covered her face, blushing red. Oh Merlin… fuck! My bed…"_

"Get out of here!" the guest yelled, frantically hiding himself in the bed.

"No, you should be checking out right now," the witch said, wanting to claim her territory. "You get out!"

"Well can you turn around and give me some privacy?"

"Funny, that you didn't seem so shy with your cock hanging out AFTER I came inside. At first, you actually looked like you were sleeping or was that all just pretend?"

"I… I…" the boy stuttered. "I'm not going to take this shit from some whore like you."

"I'm not a whore!" she screamed. "I haven't even had sex yet, so shut it!"

"Well you fooled me," he said slyly. "You could have magicked some decent clothes, you know, than to prance about dressed like the servile stupid slut you are."

"You take that back!" Amara spat, aiming her wand at him.

"Fuck no!" he said, and she lowered her wand, deciding to approach the matter a little differently.

"You know, Draco," the witch patronized him, "one of these days you're not going to be on top of the world anymore." Amara said as she walked towards the bed. Her body leaned against the bedpost, prompting the young Malfoy to hug the sheets around him tighter. "One of these days, I, the working girl, am going to enslave you, and when I do, you are going to regret a lot of things you've just said to me."

He snorted, "Yeah right, you own me? I never heard anything funnier than what you just said right now."

"You'll see, but in the meantime, I'm going to have to clean these sheets. Very expensive silk, and you just jizzed all over them."

"What?" he said alarmed.

She yanked the sheet out from under him, tosses it AND him to the floor, then petrified him.

Looking down at his frozen body, Amara said, "Don't worry I'm not going to violate you… well, not in a way that's going to please you. Mouthy wankers just aren't my type…"

"Well, I told him to leave, and when he refused, I did what I thought seemed like a good idea… I petrified him while he was still starkers."

"You're unbelievable," said Hermione.

"Thanks," Amara smirked at the compliment then continued on with her story. "So I left him stiff in the hallway, tossed his clothes at him, and the spell wore off in three minutes. From that moment, there was no way of dodging my fate of being fired."

"It was totally worth it though," said Ginny gleefully.

"You know," began Hermione, "seeing as he got you fired, you really should thank him. Because had you still been working at the inn or at the Three Broomsticks, you wouldn't have spent your time honing your skills for your apprenticeship."

"True, true," Amara agreed.

"So Amara," Ginny said with a salacious glint in her eye. A new juicy question had formed in her mind. "Who was it you left Percy for? You know, before you moved out of here?"

Amara shook her head in amusement. Ginny just lives for gossip. The raven-haired witch got up from the bed, leaving the question unanswered. She smiled at the girls still waiting a response, and sauntered out the door. Turning out the light, she bade them goodnight.

* * *


	9. Midnight Rendezvous

**Chapter 9: Midnight Rendezvous**

WARNING: Graphic lemon ahead. Read with caution.  


Craving a cup of hot chocolate before she headed back to bed, Amara walked through the narrow hallway, down the rickety staircase, and headed for the kitchen. There, sitting at the wooden table, she found Percy Weasley in his flannel pajamas sipping a cup of tea, his hazel eyes flitting back and forth as he read the detailed sheets of his cauldron bottom report. Leaves of paper were fanned across the surface. He leaned his elbows against the table and rested his tired head in the palm of his hand. The wizard was so focused, he didn't notice the raven-haired witch that sauntered into the room and began opening the cupboards.

Amara couldn't find what she was looking for. Since she hadn't lived there in years, she wasn't quite sure where everything was stored anymore. If she hadn't left her wand in Ginny's room, a simple summoning spell would have made this quest for cocoa much easier. She closed the cupboards, and finally Percy awoke from his workaholic trance. He looked up and saw Amara smiling at him.

Her shoulder length black hair was naturally straight, and not a trace of eyeliner or a smidge lipstick marked her face. She wore a satin white nightgown, he noticed. She looked so innocent like that… just like an angel.

"What are you looking for?" Percy asked her.

"I had a craving for hot chocolate," Amara said quietly. It was late, everyone was still sleeping.

"Sorry, but you won't be finding any here. Mum ran out of the stuff just yesterday what with everyone coming home."

The witch pressed her lips together, forming a thin line; she sighed.

"Just my luck," the witch said, a tad disappointed.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered, pointing to his own half-empty cup.

"No, but thanks," Amara refused politely. "I was hoping for something sweet to help put me to sleep."

The raven-haired witch hopped and sat herself on the kitchen counter, getting comfortable. She was looking to chit-chat.

"I'm sorry for not asking about you last night?" Percy said, not quite sure how exactly to bring the topic up.

"What do you mean?" Amara asked. She didn't recall much talking from the late-night visit, but she didn't consider that a bad thing. "Perce, is something bothering you?"

"Your announcement earlier surprised me. That's all," he confessed.

"Of course, silly-poof," the witch said still unsure where this conversation was heading. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Oh, well then…" Percy said softly, unsure how to explain this feeling. She didn't detect there was anything wrong at all.

"Was that why you were being distant after dinner tonight?" Amara had a vibe, but wasn't quite sure. Percy was a lot like a stone wall, liking his privacy and solitude. When she had arrived earlier, the wizard was locked shut in his room, yelling about how people kept thundering down the stairs. Then she realized what his problem was. "You thought I was holding out on you all this time?"

"Yeah…" he admitted as he stood up to put his tea cup into the sink. "I'm being an idiot aren't I?"

"That's okay, I found out the job offer when I was riding the Knight Bus this afternoon," Amara explained. "Had I known sooner, I would have told you. You know that."

"Well… since we've been seeing each other again, we haven't been talking as much as we've been-"

"Fucking," she said boldly. "Well you don't have to be sorry for that. That was the best part… I did NOT expect that from you at all!"

_Percy had been drinking that night. It was his eighteenth birthday and some of his co-workers at the Ministry wanted to celebrate so they headed over to the Leaky Cauldron seeing as it was so close by. The proper and usually well-behaved Weasley had himself a tall brew. The wizard was such a light-weight when it came to his liquor, but when he finally sobered some, he was overcome with this sudden urge fuck, and that's just what happened when the rule-biding and repressed Percy lost control. His loins ached and his body got hot all over, and he couldn't help but think on his old flame, hoping she'd help put this fire out. It wasn't Penelope, his old girlfriend from Hogwarts during his 4th and 5th years that he desired, but his very first love Amara, who he dated when they were thirteen._

The relationship only lasted a year or two, and it was just too hard to maintain because they were so distanced almost all year round. To wait for her was maddening, especially with so many tempting female students that surrounded him around the clock of every moment and everyday. Eventually, Amara saw reason as well, and just before their mutual break-up at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, she introduced the Weasley to a lovely Miss Clearwater that she happened meet only moment a ago.

So Percy stormed upstairs submitting to the delightful buzz of liquid courage and knocked on Amara's door. The raven-haired witch opened the door, wondering who could it be at that late hour, and to her surprise of her obsidian eyes, a tall lanky and un-made Percy Weasley leaned his side against the door frame. His hazel eyes stared at her intensely as if he was a hungry wolf. Her lower-belly pulsed with desire.

Amara had just popped out of the shower, the one she took nightly before settling herself to sleep. Her hair was a wet tousled mess, and her body was fragrant, the scent of sweet pea. She wore nothing but a sensible terry bathrobe. He had to claim her now.

He lowered his head as she bobbed on her toes. Their soft, sensuous lips catching one another. His hands slid around her back clutching her closer, as she held his head and deepened their kiss. Percy groaned at the sensation, wanting to consume her. He couldn't resist, and stripped off her robe. As the terry cloth garment fell to the floor, Amara pulled him inside the room and slammed the door.

"Thanks," he told Amara, recalling the passion of last night. "I'm really happy for you though. I mean I was kind of worried you'd be stuck waitressing and doing odd jobs any idiot can do for the rest of your life… No offense."

"Yeah, especially after spending some time in Azkaban after that stint with that Knight Bus conductor, I was afraid no one would want anything to do with me."

Amara got off the kitchen counter, and was about ready to head upstairs. Percy stayed on her trail. He didn't want her to leave yet.

"I'm just glad some people can see just how wonderful you truly are."

"Aww, Perce…" Amara cooed. Tip-toeing she kissed him on the cheek. "You've been so uptight over the years, I almost forgot how sweet you can be."

"When did I ever stop being sweet?"

"Way back when we were kids… I dared you to go climb up that tree in the garden, and you got a stick permanently stuck up your ass," Amara joked. Percy smirked back for her cheek. He went back to the table, and began sorting through his papers.

"So what's all this then?" she asked him.

"It's the cauldron bottom report I told you about when I saw you last week at the apothecary, remember?"

"Of course," she said. "When's it due?"

"I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday. That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time. I mean, it's extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup."

Amara just nodded and made a face, rolling his eyes at his typical over-achieving behavior. The man was like a bow-string strung so tight, it was bound to break. She hoped that she'd get to snap it before the end of the night. She was thinking silly thoughts for a moment, and then giggled softly.

"What's so funny?" Percy asked, walking up to her. She didn't want to say.

"Oh I just thought of something stupid for a moment…It's just… you were always so bossy and nitpicky about rules, at first I thought you were a bit of a sadist, but now that you're slaving for the ministry pushing papers around, I swear you're a bit of a masochist too."

"Naughty little minx, trust you to turn my life story into some _Play Wizard_ magazine sex tale."

"Perce, loosen up, will you?" she said, idly stroking his arm. "You're like this uptight wind-up monkey playing cymbals for the ministry. It's sort of a sad thing really."

"That's what I have you for…" Percy said pulling her into his embrace. Her feet were inches off the floor seeing as Amara was shorter than him. "To help me unwind, and send me off to a little trip… not like business trip, but a pleasure cruise." He whispered in her ear before kissing her neck. He slid his hand over her rump and lifted her onto the kitchen table. Amara caught sight of his report still on the table.

"Put it away," she gasped through the pleasurable sensation. He kissed her gently.

"Put what away?" Percy breathed against her lips.

"Your papers," she told him, languidly running her fingers through the softness of his ginger hair. "All this cauldron bottom stuff…put them in your pocket. I don't want to see them."

"Oh alright…" he said breaking their embrace for a moment. He shrunk the papers and placed them in his pocket. "Not only can you lead the Hippogriff to water, but you can force him to drink too."

"So Mr. Weasley," Amara said silkily. "Do I have to turn into a cauldron bottom in order to gain your attention this weekend?"

"Not at all," he purred. "Just the sight of yours would be enough."

His long hands weaved into the black tresses of her hair. His lips tasted hers. The couple continued to kiss on the kitchen table until Percy said that the couch in the living room would be more suitable.

The Weasley carried the witch, and lowered her onto the sofa. Their actions became more frantic and frenzied. They could not stop. They would not stop. Amara felt like she was on fire, and she ached for his touch. She opened the buttons on his flannel top; her eyes welcomed the sight of his smooth chest. He had a svelte build and his arms were fit and sinewy. She idly stroked small circles on his sternum. He growled in satisfaction and pulled her onto his lap. Amara strattled the clothed strain of his erection, still kissing him fervently as he pulled at the hem of her night gown and yanked it over her head. He discarded her bedclothes by tossing them carelessly over his shoulder.

She was nude now, only wearing her cotton knickers, and she was a feast for his eyes. The musky scent of her arousal was like perfume to him, and Percy began massaging her breast with one hand while his other hooked into the curve of her delectable bottom. He aligned her pelvis with his, and she could feel his throbbing member press against his hip. He ground at her softness putting her on edge.

Amara clutched him close, fingers tangled in his hair as she nipped and sucked at his neck. His eyelids close, loving the feel of her. He thrusted at her core, making her gasp. Every stroke was teasing as were the strips of cloth between them.

She was at the bottom now, Percy mounting her as he ravished her supple breasts with his tongue, nipping, teasing and sucking the hardened buds, alternating so each had equal attention.

As the Weasley lowered his head, Amara had a clear view of the nine handed grandfather clock. While eight of those hands were set to "sleeping", Percy's was set to "having fun". She laughed.

"What's…so… funny?" the wizard asked as he planted kisses on her stomach, worshipping her flesh.

"Look at the clock?" she said breathily.

"What about it?" He said, not wanting to stop.

"Just look at you," she told him, so he did what she demanded and looked over his shoulder.

"No kidding," he laughed, looking at his picture grinning like a fool. Percy then returned to her. He plunged his tongue into her wet mouth, kissing her so thoroughly, the witch lost her senses. Then suddenly…Crack! They popped into thin air and landed on a bed. It was the bed of his room she noticed, finally taking in the fact that he actually apparated her here.

She pushed him away and broke their kiss. His hazel eyes stared at her in confusion. _Why is she suddenly so pissed?_ He wondered.

"You could have gotten me splinched!" the obsidian-eyed witch yelled at him. Another deep kiss surely shut her up.

Although Amara hated how Percy had planned on working this weekend, she was surprisingly thankful for it. Tonight, they had his bedroom all to themselves.

When the night progressed to late-morning, Charlie barged inside to wake his brother up.

"Oy, Git!"

To his surprise, Percy was sharing his bed with the very lovely and very nude, Miss Amara. He couldn't believe his eyes. She was so fun, so free, and impulsive, and Percy was just so boring, uptight, and well… Percy. The two were incompatible.

Amara stirred from her slumber, and noticed the intruder standing their in shock. She blushed, wrapping the blanket around her, careful not to wake her lover. She mouthed to Charlie, "Get my wand and purse," miming that it was in the Ginny's room. When he understood, he left to retrieve her things.

She woke Percy up, and she helped relieved his morning hard-on. It was wonderful, and afterwards they got dressed and headed downstairs.

Amara sent an owl to Hogwarts, informing her new employer her acceptance to the job offer, and sat down at the table, eager for brunch. She sat at the opposite end, away from Percy. Their relationship wasn't something she wanted broadcasted to everybody. She really hoped Charlie didn't spread his strange new discovery. He and Bill were now looking at her oddly…knowingly. It made her itch. They knew… They knew…If the lovebirds were a solid and stable thing, then she wouldn't have denied her connection to Percy at all. They weren't though, and she didn't think they ever were going to be.

The greatest love of Amara's life was taken from her, two years before, in a horrible accident. She was devastated. A part of her wanted to never love again, but Percy was there so conveniently. He comforted her as she mourned. Also, Penny had just dumped them then, and so the duo was equally heartbroken. It was as if destiny was drawing them together for one purpose and one purpose only. They were mutual outlets for their aches and pains. Amara and Percy felt safe together… familiar. Amara and Percy were destined to be one thing and one thing only… fuck buddies.

"So 'Mara, what team do you hope is going to win?" asked Charlie, making conversation.

"The Irish," she said, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"Why?"

"I don't know… I like green," the witch said idly. "You know, I don't pay attention as closely to the sport as you do. I just like the atmosphere."

Charlie was about to say something, but Mrs. Weasley broke up the chit-chat.

"Amara, dear," the mother Weasley began. "When I came into the kitchen this morning to cook breakfast, I found your night gown lying on the kitchen counter. It was such a strange place to find it. You really should be more careful."

Percy paled at her statements as Amara blushed pink. Bill and Charlie's gaze darted back and forth at the two lovers. Smug grins were plastered on their faces.

"Those twins…" Amara blamed innocently. "They just won't leave me alone."


	10. Prisoners of Askaban

**Chapter 10: Prisoners of Azkaban  
**  
Amara, Bill, Charlie and Percy apparated to the Quidditch World Cup. The raven haired witch held on to the two younger Weasleys, arm in arm, nervously grasping onto them for dear sweet life.

Bill laughed at her. Amara's eyes looked wild and paranoid.

"'Mara, you're never going to learn with that sort of attitude," the eldest Weasley told her.

"Who says I want to learn? I don't want to learn!" argued the witch. "I have a broomstick, the Knight Bus, the Floo Network. I don't need to learn."

"Hey, I like riding a broom as much as the next guy, but you travel a lot, 'Mara," Charlie reminded her. "Why wait and waste your time, when you can pop in somewhere in a pinch?"

"Splinch?!" Amara shrieked. "Hell no! I'm not going to let myself get splinched!"

"I said 'pinch', 'Mara. You know, 'Pinch'." Charlie tried to emphasize, but pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing he his words weren't going to get through.

"Amara, so far you've side-along apparated twice. You're fine," Percy told his lover gently. "You just need to focus. You're a _strong _witch, a _smart_ witch. You can do this. I believe in you."

"But I just don't understand it," Amara tried explaining her fears. "Like what's happening when I do it? I once knew a man at the inn who left a stench of sulfur whenever he popped from place to place. He told me that for a millisecond he's in some fiery demonic place. What happens to us when we go? Why do some people get splinched? Do we disintegrate into tiny pieces before we go? Explain it to me please."

"Err…" The boys didn't know how exactly the theory worked. They weren't spell masters. Were all women this neurotic? They wondered.

"It's magic," Charlie said simply just before he and his brothers picked up their pace, walking faster before the witch began her stubborn debate.

Left to make her own entertainment, Amara marveled at the setting around her: the tents, the energy, the diversity. Unfortunately, she stumbled upon the presence of one sleazy Stan Shunpike. The witch shuddered at the memory of him.  


* * *

Last summer, Amara rode the Knight Bus back to the Leaky Cauldron in the sorest of moods. She had just left St. Mungo's in tears after learning her lover of two years had just got himself into a magical accident and that the effects of it were irrevocable.

The witch felt like her world just collapsed. She and her lover were engaged to be married. A diamond ring hung on the chain around her neck and beneath her clothes (the gem was just too huge and distracting to wear for a blue-collared working witch like herself). They were supposed to be husband and wife. They were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together, but the dream they once shared was all over now.

Amara visited him at the hospital. He was in a cot dressed in a paper gown, and he smiled at her and said 'hello', but his warm blue eyes burned a different stare. This wasn't the stare of adoration or ardor as it normally was. His eyes were pure and innocent. He looked as if he didn't know her, and that's what broke her.

Stan Shunpike, the bus conductor, spotted the distraught passenger. He had worked on the Knight Bus for a year now and was aware of the saucy minx of a witch ever since he first laid eyes on her: dark hair, dark eyes, and ivory skin. She had the mystique of a seductive vampire, and was hot in this fiery temptress sort of way. At first, he used to try chatting her up with bawdy jokes to try and make her laugh, but that was unsuccessful. The witch just glowered at him and threatened to sever his bollocks off if he even looked her way again. That was usual, but tonight for the first time, she looked so vulnerable.

Amara stared off into the window watching the scenery blur by the magnificent speeds. The tears had dried on her face, and little did she know, the obnoxious pimple faced bus conductor's eyes preyed upon her. Stan wanted to "comfort" her. He heard from a friend that women get rather randy when they are in distress, so desperate to feel something else other than their pain. Looking at the witch now, he hoped his friend was right.

Stan strutted over to where the witch was sitting and sat down beside her. He wrapped his arm over her shoulders and asked her what was wrong.

Amara awoke from her trance. Memories of her lover plagued her mind, and she realized where she was. Stan's gentle touch put a jolt in her system, and she was shocked to find the juvenile so close to her and squeezing her inner-thigh. _When the hell did that happen? Better question, how the hell did I let this happen?_

Apparently, much like the famous poem about the turtle and the bagpipe on the beach, Stan took Amara's lack of response as an invite. If she didn't like it, she could have said 'no', however the witch did have enough sense in her to scream "Aaooga" when squeezed.

Amara whipped out her wand, lashing all her frustrations out on him. "How dare you!?" she hissed, and in a moment a small fat toady replaced the zit-faced teenager. _Ribbit! Ribbit!_ He croaked, hopping around the bus in a panic.

The angry witch drew a deep breath, collected herself and adopted her icy resolve as she stepped off the bus and arrived at her destination. It wasn't long until the Aurors came to arrest her for improper use of a transfiguration spell. It wasn't so much the spell that got her in trouble, but her reputation as a troublemaker, and at the time, under-aged at sixteen. Her wand was still tracked by the authorities and she just hexed a civil service worker on the job. It didn't paint a pretty picture for Amara as far as the ministry was concerned, Minister Fudge was glad she would finally face the consequences of her actions. She was always a thorn in his side, but she was charming, constantly meeting different people through the inn. The public actually sympathized for her.

However, Amara was still sentenced to suffer in Azkaban, even if only for a month. It was June, and apparently her cell was next to the murderer Sirius Black's sometime before his deftly made escape.

Amara was forced to wear a shapeless grey gown, and her hands were tethered with an unbreakable bind. The witch was escorted by two dementors, each flying wispily by her sides. She crinkled her nose at her guards' foul stenches. They smelt like rotting corpses, she gagged. It was all too overwhelming. The air was cold and dank; she could see her breath, a misty cloud over her mouth.

She buckled over and stared down at the floor of the narrow corridor, avoiding chance of making eye contact between her and her fellow inmates. An icy chill ran deep into her very core, sapping all the warmth inside her. Amara wanted to think of happy thoughts like the Weasleys, her flat at the Cauldron, Madame Rosemerta (her most recent boss at the time) or priceless memories, but the effort was futile. The dementors sapped it all away, giving her a painful migraine whenever the witch tried. The images in her mind would always melt into the worst memories of her life.

It wasn't such a bad life for the witch though. Sure, Amara couldn't remember anything before being orphaned at seven, but she had accepted her situation and decided not to obsess over it too much. She lived a life of hard work and had a loving family life with the Weasleys, and for that, she was blessed. The witch had no complaints really, she thought, but during her stay in Azkaban, she learned the few things that really struck her nerve.

The dementors of that cell block stayed near. Amara was so fresh and full of hope; the cloaked creatures were drawn to her like moths to a flame.

Sitting in the corner of her stonewall cell, Amara's mind replayed her personal hell. Instead of air banding with Bill when they took excursions to muggle London, she was ashamed at the time she was far too young to entice him. Instead of broom flying with Charlie, they were arguing about how he hated her when she initially joined the family. Instead of making love to Percy, she saw his reaction when he found out she was in the arms of someone else. Instead of playing games with the twins, she was getting scolded by Molly and Arthur for getting them accidentally injured. Instead of babysitting Ron and Ginny or helping Molly with the cooking and cleaning, Amara was at work getting snubbed by wealthy Purebloods. Instead of finally getting proposed to by her fiancé, she saw his empty strange eyes staring at her, that empty stare that angered her on the day that brought her here.

"Evie…psst! Evie…" Sirius whispered for the witch's attention. She was asleep in her cot, but her face was turned towards the stony wall. The wizards face was pressed against the bars; he could peer into her cell. "You're alive! I can't believe –"

"That's not my name," she grumbled, not wanting to wake.

"Evie, it's me, Sirius. Certainly you remember –"

"I'm not her, dammit!" the witch hollered, snapping her eyes open. She sat up from her cot and glanced at the barred window between their cells. Her eyes met a pathetic sight. While Amara was fit, but growing gaunter every day spent in this hell hole, the face of her neighboring cellmate was thin like a skull, his skin – a sickly pallor, and his hair was long and dirty.

"Who are you?" the prisoner asked the familiar-looking witch. Sirius seemed absolutely sure that this woman was exactly who he thought she was. He had known Evelyn Orchis in his 5th year at Hogwarts, a beautiful shy Ravenclaw that had a tendency to fraternize with those from Slytherin House. Sirius first noticed her she was hanging around Snivillus all of a sudden, and then with his younger brother Regulus. James, who was a prefect then, reported to his fellow marauder that he had caught Evelyn and Regulus meeting after-curfew several times.

Although Evelyn was naturally blue eyed and silver-haired, she had a tendency to change the colors of her eyes and hair into jet black, making her look no different from the witch staying in the cell next door. But as a member of the Order, Sirius knew better. Weeks before he wound up in Azkaban, before that fat rat Peter framed him for a crime he did not commit, before Lily and James's deaths, Evelyn had been murdered by Death Eaters. If that's true, then there is no way that this witch in front of him could possibly be Evie, unless…

Sweet pea, the nickname dawned on him. Good heavens! Could this really be…Could this really be…his little niece? She would be old enough.

"Who are you?" Sirius rasped softly. "What's your name?"

"Amara," she answered, confirming his suspicions. "Who are you?"

"Sirius Black."

"The notorious murderer?" Amara wondered aloud.

"Hardly," he chuckled dryly. "Aren't you a bit young to be playing in Azkaban?"

"I'm sixteen."

"Then you must have been very naughty," Sirius teased. "Why are you here?"

"Self-defense."

"Seriously?" He asked her.

"I'm always serious, Sirius" Amara told him, wincing at her inadvertently corny joke. "I'm a repeated offender for underage-wizardry. It was only last night I turned this horny toad into a… well… a horny toad, pretty much. What did you do?"

He beckoned her closer. She approached him slowly, fearing he might do something untoward like lick her face for example.

"I was betrayed," he told her.

"Really," Amara scathed. "Everyone else said that YOU were the traitor."

"Fuck what everyone else says!" Sirius roared gripping the bars tightly; a little bit of his spittle landed on the witch's cheek. Amara stoically wiped her face, silently noting that she's truly living in hell then looked back at the prisoner.

"Then what really happened?"

* * *

Tears prickled her eyes as Sirius described that fateful day at Godric's Hallow. His pained expression as he described his loss and Peter's betrayal earned Amara's trust very easily. Inside she felt foolish, gullible even, but something about this man felt oddly reassuring, familiar to her as if she new him all her life or at least some other lifetime ago.

Days sped by that month of June, and Amara and Sirius shared each others stories: what it was like for either of them growing up, the people who were important to their lives, secrets…

"I had my wand taken by the ministry at least 96 times," Amara confessed.

"You're kidding!" said Sirius.

"Nope. Ollivander was not happy with me."

"Was he giving you your wands?"

"Hell no! My so-called "wands" always were the sticks I claimed them to be. A little thanks to a transfiguration method called the "Greek Pull", with enough focus, the stick stretched into the shape I wanted it to be. Seeing as my wands lacked a magical core inside, they weren't really wands. I didn't get a real wand until I began living with the Weasleys."

The two prisoners of Azkaban told jokes, described the taste of butterbeer and other sweets; Amara told Sirius of the latest prank products at Jonko's shop, and it was fun even if the dementors feasted on this fresh source of mirth.

Noticing that Amara had no recollection of him or her mother, Sirius decided not to tell her the truth about Evelyn or her past. Even though Amara is missing her memories, she was under the care of the Weasleys, Order members, and so he concluded her condition was most likely made to protect her.

Eventually, Amara's day of freedom finally came. Sirius asked her what was her plans now that she's left. A part of him yearned to ask her to come back and visit him, but a larger part of him felt guilty for wanting to keep her in this prison. She told him that she was sure that she still had a job at the Three Broomsticks and that she was considering experimenting in the field of potions. Also, once she cleans herself up, she was planning to visit her absent-minded fiancé at St. Mungos.

Through the bars, Amara kissed Sirius on his cheek goodbye and softly stroked his face and beard. She felt as if he would never feel such a tender gesture for as long as he lived. As she turned around to make her final leave of the premises, the witch bumped into Minister Fudge who was visiting the prison that day for a routine inspection.

"Minister Fudge," Amara acknowledged the wizard.

"Miss Amara," Fudge returned the gesture. "Gallivanting with murderers I see."

"I was just leaving."

"I trust I won't see your return here soon."

Meanwhile, Sirius looked at the Minister and noticed the newspaper tucked under his arm as he addressed Amara. He saw on the page a picture of the Weasley family. About to tell Amara this, knowing that she would be thrilled, he noticed the rat that rested in the arms of the young Ron Weasley.

"Excuse me," called the prisoner, grabbing Amara and Fudge's attention. "May I see your newspaper, Minister?"

Amara looked over at the newspaper and saw the black and white picture of the Weasley family in Egypt. She squealed with glee and about grabbed the paper out of the minister's hand before he had given his permission. Fudge rolled his eyes, thinking that for someone who just got released from prison, she was uncharacteristically peppy. She must have not stayed long enough. No matter, Fudge thought, turning his heel and leaving to carry on with his business.

"Look Sirius!" Amara told her fellow inmate as she showed him the paper, "They're in Egypt. If I hadn't gotten arrested, I could have gone with them.

"Sirius, what's wrong?" Amara ask, noticing his down turned gaze at the paper. He was quiet. His hand reached out and tapped the photograph.

"Who's this?" he whispered.

"That's Scabbers," Amara spoke lowering her voice too, although she was confused as to why. "He is Ron's pet rat. It used to be Percy's. I'm surprised it's still alive."

"That's no ordinary rat, Amara."

"No shit. I swear that rat has more lives than a cat."

"No, not cat. Wizard," Sirius rasped.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Tell me, does Scabbers have all his toes?"

"No, he's missing one… Are you telling me that he's –"

"Peter."

"Oh god, Percy forced me to kiss that thing!" Amara's eyes widened in outrage.

"I'm getting out of here," Sirius told the witch.

"What! You can't do that. Can you do that? Why haven't you already?"

"I had no reason to before. I was framed. Peter escaped. I was a wanted man."

"And now?"

"Now I know where Peter is."

"Sirius, if you need anything, food or shelter, don't hesitate to contact me okay," Amara offered her hand through the bars.

"Thank you, Amara," said Sirius, gently kissing the back of her hand. "It's been a pleasure knowing you."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the extremely slow updates.


	11. Pitching Tent

**Chapter 11: Pitching Tent**

Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman had just left the Weasley's campsite. Amara and Bill were sitting in a pair of lawn chairs in front of the tent enjoying their lunch while they watched Percy poke and kindle the fire. He was still red-eared from embarrassment after being called "Weatherby". Bill and Amara shook their heads in disappointment. Percy was such a bootlicker, it made Amara cringe.

"Why you are with him?" Bill asked her.

"Well I'd fancy you, but you broke my heart ages ago"

"Oh come off it, 'Mara. I was seventeen and you were eleven. You didn't even have tits yet."

"Charming Bill… So now that I've filled out some, do you regret not giving me a chance?"

"Nope."

"Why not? I'm not pretty enough for you?" She teased.

"Nah, you're just not my type. Don't get me wrong. You're a doll. You're beautiful and fun to play with, but I just can't see you in the romantic way. I love you 'Mara, but I don't think I can, you know, _love_ you. You're like my sister or a dog, man's best friend, and you just don't shag either of them."

"Oh fuck you, Bill," Amara said laughing, "Go get the exploding snap."

* * *

An hour later in the tent, Percy was at his desk doing paperwork as Amara clung to his shoulders like a dead weight.

"Come on, Weatherby," the witch begged. "Talk a walk with me."

"Amara, I have to work," the stern Weasley told her again, but she just wouldn't let up.

"It can wait. Just fifteen minutes, let's take a walk. Please Percy," Amara whined, pouting her lips and giving him the sad puppy eyes.

"Unlike you, Amara" he said shuffling papers while trying to shake the witch off. "I can't be the grasshopper who sang all bloody summer. I have to prepare myself. I can't leave it all to chance like you do. I control my destiny."

"What?" exclaimed Amara, releasing her lover. "Do I look like one of those wandless beggars at Knockturn Alley? You know life didn't deal me cards as great as yours, but I've done the best I can, okay."

"I know Amara, but this is MY future we're talking about here."

"I know. Don't think I'm not as serious as you are about it."

"Well you could be more supportive and understanding of my goals. I plan on becoming the Minister of Magic someday."

"Percy, it's not that I'm being unsupportive. I admire that you're doing something that you love for a living and that you've always strived to do the best at whatever you decided to do," the witch sighed. "But you're a young wizard, Perce, but most of the time you're acting like a grumpy old man."

Percy's eyes darted a glare at Amara. She dared to play the "grumpy old man" card again. The gauntlet was thrown down.

"I'm not an old man!" he yelled at the witch.

"Prove it!"

He kissed her thoroughly to her delight. She enjoyed wounding his ego. It added some fire to their rekindling relationship.

"Does that seem like something an old man would do?" Percy spoke against her lips.

"This doesn't get you out of taking a walk with me," Amara smiled.

"Agreed," the wizard breathed.

Percy's hands were slipping themselves under Amara's shirt so he could fondle those luscious breasts, but suddenly he heard a shriek, and it wasn't coming from Amara. The heated couple snapped their heads towards the source of the noise. Ginny stood there at the entrance of the tent, her mouth gaped open like a fish. Percy flushed red and quickly removed his hands and stepped away, feeling naughtier than the little boy who was caught with his hand inside a cookie jar before dinner.

"Get a room you two!" the sister Weasley shouted. Amara arched a fine eyebrow, exaggerating the observation of her surroundings to prove a point.

"And where do you suppose we are?"

As she saw Ginny hadn't made even the slightest step to leave, refusing actually for her own sadistic glee, Amara took Percy by the hand, about to lead him outside.

"Amara, wait!"

The witch stopped and looked at him.

"What is it, Perce?"

"I have a little problem," he told her, referring to the tent now pitched in his trousers

"Oh, Mister Pokey wants to play does he?" she whispered. "Well, hurry up. Sneak a freezing charm down your pants. I'll be waiting."

Amara left the tent, leaving him to tend to himself with a groan of frustration. His sister's soft giggle met his ears. She went off to one of the beds to take a nap before the big game.

"Cock-blocker," he uttered underneath his breath.


	12. The Break Up

**Chapter 12: Breaking Up**

"You have some nerve, Perceval Ignatius Weasley!"

Amara stormed towards a clearing and avoided the crowd at the World Cup. Her Weasley lover trailed her tail.

"I have some nerve? Hey, I'm not the one that shags it with criminals."

"Well seeing as I am one," the witch reminded him. "It really should not be surprise to you then."

"I'm sorry," Percy apologized. "What I said was out of line, but did it have to be him?"

"What are you so worried about? The man is numskull rotting in an institution. You've got no one to compete with!"

"That never stopped you from visiting him."

"I was his fiancé for two years. What part of that is too hard for you to understand? Of course I was loyal to him."

"Well we were together for three years before you suddenly broke up with me and then introduced me to Penny"

"I thought you two got along splendidly."

"We did."

"Then what's the problem."

"The problem is that you decided to leave me for the biggest fraud in wizarding history. You had to have known."

"Of course I've known, Percy. I may be uneducated and undisciplined, but I'm not stupid."

"Tell me why then. Tell me what you saw in him," the wizard demanded.

"You know, your siblings were just as keen to ask me the same thing about you."

"And what did you tell them?"

"Nothing. I didn't even answer their question. I thought I enjoyed being with you, but as far as I can tell right now…"

"Okay, Amara. You win. Let's just put this in the past."

"Oh no, no," she insisted. Stubborn witch she was, Amara wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. "I told you the truth YEARS ago, and it STILL bothers you!"

"He just doesn't seem like your type, that's all."

"And what type of bloke was he?"

"Handsome and vain, a liar and a fool," Percy described. Amara felt torn. He was jealous and insecure, and had he stopped right there, they might have actually stood a chance. "He's the kind of bloke who might just stare at his own reflection while he shags."

"Oh fuck you, Percy! You're just mad because he's nothing like you, and it drives you crazy knowing that he might always be in my mind. It's pathetic, Percy. I just feel so sorry for you."

"Amara, I didn't mean it."

"No, Percy. You thought it, said it and meant it.

"It's OVER, Percy," the witch hissed, "We're over."


End file.
